The western processional court had been chosen because it was wide, close to the old cargo road, and far enough from the cathedral heart that future traffic would not have to pass through the sacred center of the captured fortress.
During the Church's occupation, the court had received supply wagons, clergy escorts, tithe caravans, and visiting priests who entered beneath scripture banners before being guided toward the cathedral wing. The stone still showed the habits of that former life. Pale processional lines crossed the ground in long, disciplined patterns, old wheel marks had been polished into the surface by years of controlled movement, and the western arch still carried carved prayers above its inner curve. Now those same stones were covered with measuring rods, black construction cords, crates of inscription ink, stacked gate stones, folded canvas shelters, and heavy plates of dark Abyssium ore waiting to be fixed into the foundation.
The Academy workers moved carefully through the court under the watch of the fallen clergy. They were not afraid of the fortress anymore, but they had not become comfortable either. The Apex Dominion Ward covered the walls and sky in restrained crimson-gold-violet patterns, quiet and controlled, while the newly converted clergy stood at road mouths and restricted doors to make sure no worker wandered into sealed storage, unfinished conversion chambers, or old Church passages still waiting for inspection. The workers understood gates, anchors, inscription lines, and spatial frames. They did not understand everything Noctis had turned the fortress into, and most of them were wise enough not to pretend otherwise.
Rowan stood near the northern edge of the court with a site ledger tucked against one arm and a smaller slate in his hand. He was not there to command the gate specialists in their own trade. His role was to keep the work tied to fortress order. When workers asked for old foundation maps, Rowan sent a runner to Malachar. When they needed access through a former clergy service corridor, he checked with Adrian. When they found old scripture markings beneath the paving stones, he recorded the location before allowing anyone to scrape deeper. By midmorning, the court no longer looked abandoned or conquered. It looked like a place being claimed by work.
The lead formation specialist knelt near the first anchor mark with his sleeves tied above his elbows. He was a narrow-faced demon with gray horns that swept backward along his skull and hands permanently stained by ink, ash, and ground ore. A measuring crystal rested between two fingers as he pressed it to the chalked circle drawn over the foundation stone. The crystal glowed dark red at first, accepting the demonic alignment of the site, then flickered gold for half a breath before dimming again.
He did not speak immediately.
The workers nearest him noticed anyway. One material handler lowered the formation rod from his shoulder. Another stopped unpacking anchor nails and looked down at the stone as if the court itself had just answered incorrectly. Spatial construction did not forgive arrogance. A flicker during early measurement could become a collapsed frame later, and everyone who worked around gates knew that pretending not to see a bad reading was a fast way to die.
Rowan crossed the court when the specialist moved the crystal to a second line and received the same answer. "What did you find?"
The specialist scraped a thin layer of dust and old polish away from the stone. A faint gold line appeared beneath the surface pattern, so fine that it might have been mistaken for decoration if the crystal had not reacted to it. "There is still holy power under the court."
Rowan looked at the exposed line. "Enough to stop the work?"
"Not enough to defend anything," the specialist said, "but enough to interfere with demonic anchor work. The Church did not build this court as plain stone. There are holy channels under the foundation. They probably helped supply carts, clergy, and approved guests pass through the old barrier system without disturbing it."
Rowan studied the line with a quiet frown. "The fortress barrier is gone."
"Yes," the specialist said, moving the crystal slowly along the gold thread. "But some of the old holy power is still left in the foundation. If we place a permanent demonic anchor over it, the frame may become unstable during activation."
"How long to clear it by hand?"
The specialist exhaled through his nose. "Too long. We would have to strip foundation markings, pull consecration nails, test sanctified rods, and check every anchor point before setting the frame. If we miss one buried line and it touches the anchor lattice, the gate could reject the connection at the worst possible moment."
Rowan glanced across the court. The first gate stones were already arranged in order of placement. Abyssium ore plates sat on padded racks, their dark surfaces veined with dull purple lines that took demonic inscriptions well. Formation rods had been measured, inscription ink had been mixed, and the material handlers had cleared a path toward the northern frame site. The work was ready to move, but the old Church power under their feet had turned the foundation into a hidden problem.
"Do not cut anything yet," Rowan said.
The specialist nodded. "You are calling Lord Noctis?"
"Yes," Rowan said. "If old holy power is still buried under the site, he should see it before anyone starts digging."
The message moved faster than the runner sent from the court. Before the runner had crossed the inner road, the fallen clergy along the western approach straightened, and several workers lowered their tools when they noticed. The air did not tremble, and no grand pressure descended, but the fortress always seemed to become more aware when Noctis approached. He entered from the inner road in his black coat, calm-eyed and unhurried, as if he had been walking the route already and had merely decided to stop at the construction site.
The fallen clergy lowered their heads. The Academy workers followed a moment later, some awkwardly because they still held measuring rods, ink brushes, or plates in their hands.
Noctis stopped beside Rowan and looked down at the exposed gold line. "Show me."
The specialist placed the measuring crystal against the line again. Dark red light appeared first, then a brief gold flicker crossed the crystal before it dulled. "The court can still be used, Master, but there is holy power left under the foundation. It is not strong, but it is enough to interfere with the anchor frame."
Noctis opened his Omni Eyes.
The court unfolded in layers. The surface stone became a skin over buried construction. Processional engravings revealed deeper guidance lines beneath them. Consecration nails sat inside joints where wheels and boots would never strike them directly. Sanctified rods ran under the main path, connecting old clergy lanes, wagon permissions, and checkpoint wards that had once belonged to the fortress's former barrier. The lead specialist had found only the nearest visible line. The larger pattern continued beyond the court.
Noctis looked toward the cathedral, the old side chapels, the bishop residence, the inner gatehouse, and the western wall. "It is not just here."
The specialist lifted his head slightly. "Master?"
"The Church built old holy power into most of the fortress," Noctis said. "The court, the chapels, the doorframes, the foundation rods, the old barrier channels. Most of it is weak now, but weak is still enough to make your work annoying."
Rowan's expression sharpened. "Then clearing only the court would not be enough."
"No," Noctis said. "If the gate is going to become permanent, the foundation around it should be clean."
The specialist lowered his gaze. "We can clear it, Master, but it will take days if the remaining holy power is spread through multiple structures."
Noctis stepped into the center of the court. "It will not."
The workers moved back without being told. Rowan retreated to the edge of the anchor grid while keeping the site ledger against his side. Noctis raised one hand, and Devour spread from beneath his feet in a controlled pull that sank into the stone rather than tearing across the surface. The first old gold line beneath the court dimmed almost immediately.
The remaining holy power came out in thin streams.
It did not burst or crack the foundation. It did not lash at the workers or detonate inside the buried channels. The old Church lines simply emptied as Devour drew power through the foundation seams, consecration nails, blessing channels, sanctified rods, and half-dead barrier routes. The streams gathered toward Noctis, gold at first, then darkening as the skill processed them. He kept the pull precise. It did not touch the active holy spells being practiced in the training grounds, the converted core beneath the fortress, or the Apex Dominion Ward spread through the walls and sky. It only stripped out the old Church power that no longer served anyone.
The pull expanded beyond the western court. Chapel stones lost the faint holy power left from years of prayer and ritual. Old scripture nails hidden inside doorframes went dull. Broken blessing circles beneath dusty side corridors faded into ordinary markings. Sanctified rods under the inner road emptied one after another. The abandoned channels of the former barrier, already broken and overwritten by Noctis's own protection, lost the last power clinging to them. Across the fortress, old gold threads that had survived the battle as useless leftovers finally went quiet.
The power gathered inside Noctis as Faith Essence.
It was not enough to compare to a living capital cathedral or a functioning relic vault, but it was still valuable. What the workers had treated as a delay became something Noctis could absorb and store. Devour continued until the last reachable stream thinned into nothing, then he lowered his hand and allowed the crimson-black pull to disappear beneath his skin.
The court felt different afterward. The stone had not changed shape. The old processional lines were still visible. The western arch still carried its carved prayers. Yet the hidden pressure under the foundation was gone, and when the lead specialist placed the measuring crystal against the exposed gold line again, the crystal glowed dark red without flickering.
The specialist stared at the clean reading for several seconds. "That would have taken us days, Master."
Noctis glanced toward the waiting gate stones. "Use those days on the gate."
The specialist bowed quickly. "Yes, Master. We will test each anchor point again before placement."
"Good," Noctis said. "Do it carefully. Fast work is useless if you have to rebuild it."
That answer settled the workers more than a grand command would have. The gate crew returned to motion, slower at first, then with growing confidence as each anchor mark tested clean. The first plate was lowered into the prepared socket. The second needed a slight adjustment because an old drainage channel ran too close to its edge. The third settled without complaint. Rowan recorded each placement while the fallen clergy kept the outer road clear and redirected curious workers away from the active inscription lines.
The Abyssium ore plates were brought forward next. They were heavier than their size suggested, and the workers carried them in pairs, lowering each one with careful coordination so the edges aligned with the anchor sockets. The dark ore drank in demonic inscription ink without bleeding power into the surrounding stone. Low-grade Abyssium was common enough in demon-side repairs and ordinary equipment, but the plates Valdred had supplied were better than basic stock. They could hold layered markings, take spatial strain, and remain stable under the pressure of a permanent gate frame.
The lead specialist ran his hand along the first plate once it was seated. "This grade will hold the lower ring."
Rowan looked up from the ledger. "Will you need more?"
"Not for the first anchor," the specialist said. "For the full frame, probably. If the Academy wants this gate to last, we should not use weaker ore in the inner supports."
"Write the amount before the first shipment runs low," Rowan said. "No one here wants a half-built gate waiting on material no one requested."
The specialist gave a short nod and returned to the socket.
From the training grounds beyond the inner wall, clean holy light flashed across the air.
The fallen angels were still practicing under Nocthyrael and Claire's supervision. Judgment Marks shone across reinforced targets before Holy Bolts struck them in bright gold impacts. Blood Pistols carried holy rounds cleanly now, and several angels practiced feeding power through the barrels without warping the spell structure. Halo Shields rotated around small groups as practice shots struck their outer rings. Angelic Acceleration sharpened ground movement in short bursts, quick enough to change positions without forcing wings to appear. Nocthyrael moved through the formation in black armor with her veil shifting lightly when she turned her head, while Claire corrected aim, stance, and timing with a focus sharp enough to make the newer angels listen quickly.
A worker near the western court flinched when a gold round hit a marked target hard enough for the sound to carry across the stone. He looked toward the training grounds, then toward Rowan. "Are those fallen angels using holy spells?"
Rowan glanced in the same direction. "Yes."
The worker waited for more explanation. None came. After a moment, he turned back to the anchor socket in front of him and became very interested in checking whether the plate was level.
Noctis remained long enough to see the first group of anchor plates seated properly, then left Rowan with the workers and returned to the administrative hall. The fortress had too many moving parts now for him to spend the whole day watching construction. A gate did not matter if the fortress around it failed to function. Workers needed lodging, payment, and rules. Future merchants needed roads, guards, and prices. The mission hall needed a reporting structure. Storage rooms needed fees. Protected vault spaces needed better restrictions than old Church seals and good intentions.
The administrative hall had become a war room without a battle map. Ledgers covered the main table. Old Church treasury books sat beside newly written demon-side drafts. Malachar had spread out fortress maps marked with possible market districts, restricted roads, worker quarters, storage halls, and checkpoint locations. Adrian stood at the center of the work with the Prelates around him, each handling a different category. There were no random assistants crowding the room. Noctis had left this to people who understood command, structure, records, and the captured fortress better than anyone else available.
Adrian lowered his head when Noctis entered. "Master."
Noctis looked at the open ledgers. "How bad is it?"
Kael, standing near a treasury page, answered before Adrian could make it sound more formal. "We are rich in the wrong direction, Master."
Adrian glanced at him, but did not correct the phrasing. "That is accurate."
Noctis walked to the table and looked down at the columns. Enchanted gold, sanctified bars, holy medium ingots, tithe seals, temple trade notes, and sealed Church deposits filled several pages. By human standards, the fortress had been wealthy. By Church standards, it had been a serious regional asset. By demon-side operating standards, a large portion of that wealth was inconvenient.
Lucian touched one column with the end of his pen. "The gate workers requested contribution points. Future Academy-linked costs can be handled the same way, but if every payment depends on Academy accounting, the fortress will be limited."
Malachar nodded. "Merchants passing through will need a direct exchange method. Workers, guards, repair crews, scouts, messengers, and private contractors cannot all wait for Academy valuation."
Noctis looked over the drafts. Gate tolls. Lodging fees. Storage charges. Protected storage under the ward. Merchant stalls. Training ground access. Mission hall posting fees. Repair contracts. Escort permits. The categories were sensible, but the pricing system was incomplete because everyone in the room had only recently entered demon-side society.
"Ask someone who has been using demon currency longer than us," Noctis said.
Adrian lifted his eyes. "One of the Academy workers?"
"Someone who handles payments."
Kael left the hall and returned shortly with a narrow-shouldered Academy worker who looked far more comfortable around ledgers than around fallen clergy. Ink stained his fingers, measuring seals hung from his belt, and his expression suggested he had been pulled away from counting construction materials at the worst possible time. He bowed quickly once he realized Noctis was the one waiting.
Noctis looked at him. "Aside from contribution points, what do demons actually trade with?"
The worker blinked before he could stop himself. His gaze moved from Noctis to Adrian, then to Malachar and the Prelates. "You are all demons, but you do not know?"
The hall became very quiet.
Adrian's voice stayed calm, but it carried enough weight to make the worker lower his head at once. "Answer Master's question."
"Forgive me," the worker said quickly. "Soul crystals, Master. Contribution points are for Academy records, but outside that system, demons trade directly with soul crystals."
"What do they do?" Noctis asked.
"They hold condensed soul energy," the worker said, speaking faster now that the answer had become technical. "Demons use them for trade, cultivation, spell fuel, contracts, and strengthening abyssal power. Low-grade soul crystals are common currency. Higher grades are used for serious purchases. The grade matters because damaged or unstable crystals can cause disputes, but proper crystals are easy to measure."
Adrian looked toward the operating-cost ledger. "And for material payments?"
"Abyssium ore," the worker said. "Most demon-side weapons, armor, gate frames, ward anchors, heavy restraints, and fortress repairs use some grade of it. Low-grade Abyssium is common enough for daily repairs. Higher-grade Abyssium takes abyssal inscriptions more cleanly and holds demonic power without cracking."
Malachar wrote the term carefully. "Abyssium ore."
"Yes," the worker said. "Abyssal materials can also be accepted if the quality is clear. Some merchants pay with spell records, maps, captured relics, or useful information, but those need judgment. They are not simple currency."
Noctis looked back at Adrian. "Then list prices in contribution points and soul crystals. If someone wants to pay with Abyssium ore, abyssal materials, spell records, maps, captured relics, or useful information, judge the value before accepting it. Enchanted gold is not fortress currency."
Adrian lowered his head. "Understood, Master."
Malachar added the instruction to the draft. "Then enchanted gold remains treasury wealth, but not a pricing standard here."
Noctis looked at the old Church ledger again. The columns of enchanted gold were too large to ignore, and too valuable to waste on demon merchants who would only price it as something inconvenient to resell elsewhere. The Academy might accept some of it, but the Academy would also convert it through channels that understood human holy markets. Selling it cheaply on the demon side would only let someone else profit from the difference.
"Do not sell it cheaply to demons either," Noctis said. "It has value somewhere else."
Adrian followed his gaze. "Humans would value it."
Noctis looked at him. "Where would it bring the best price?"
Malachar answered without hesitation. "Avalon."
The name changed the air in the room.
The Academy worker glanced up despite himself, then quickly lowered his head again. Adrian's eyes sharpened. The Prelates went still, not from fear of the name alone, but from the memories attached to it. Avalon was not just a wealthy human city. It was the capital of the Holy Church, the center of its relic markets, scripture houses, sanctified weapon dealers, temple banks, noble worship districts, and restricted vault offices. If this fortress had been a weapon pointed at the demon side of the world, Avalon was one of the hands that had helped supply it.
Malachar continued when Noctis remained silent. "If enchanted gold has real value anywhere, it is there, Master. Relic brokers, scripture houses, sanctified weapon dealers, Church auction halls, and private collectors all trade through Avalon. Even the black markets around the capital would pay more than demon merchants. Holy medium ingots can be moved there with the right cover. Tithe seals are more delicate, but they can still be useful if handled carefully."
Lucian lowered his head before speaking. "Master, Avalon is not an ordinary city. Every gate district is watched. The Church inspects clergy, merchants, pilgrims, nobles, and foreign envoys. The closer one gets to the inner markets, the heavier the detection becomes."
Noctis did not answer with an argument.
His body changed instead.
The crimson edge around him withdrew beneath his skin, and the abyssal weight in the hall vanished so completely that the Academy worker stiffened in confusion. Noctis's black clothing reshaped into white-and-gold clerical robes, fine enough for a ranking priest traveling through a wealthy district but plain enough not to draw attention from every guard. His hair softened into a more ordinary human shade, his features adjusted just enough to lose their dangerous sharpness, and the cold red in his eyes settled into calm gold. Pure holy light rose from him, steady and clean, filling the hall with an aura that did not feel stolen or forced.
The fallen clergy reacted before the Academy worker did. Their new blood recognized Noctis as their master, but years of Church instinct still recognized holy power when it stood in front of them. Kael lowered his head at once, though surprise tightened his shoulders. Lucian studied the aura for only a breath before lowering his gaze as well. Adrian remained composed, but even he watched more carefully than before.
Kael spoke with restraint. "Master… forgive me, but that transformation is difficult to understand."
Lucian kept his voice deferential. "The holy power feels too clean to be a surface disguise, Master."
Noctis glanced down at the white-and-gold sleeve as if checking the result. "It was one of my earlier skills. It lets me take a human priest's appearance and mask my aura through pure holy power."
The Academy worker stared openly now. No one corrected him, mostly because he looked too shocked to remember he was staring.
Adrian bowed slightly before speaking. "Master, your appearance and aura may pass ordinary inspection, but Avalon will not rely on sight alone. The capital wards will test blood, soul, aura, holy compatibility, demonic taint, and false sanctity. Even high priests are inspected when entering restricted districts."
Noctis chuckled. The sound was calm, almost amused, and it did not match the harmless priestly image surrounding him. "Unless those wards were made by a god, they will not find a vampire or a demon."
The hall became quiet again.
Noctis let the holy aura remain for a few breaths longer, then withdrew it. The white-and-gold robes faded back into his black coat, the golden eyes returned to red, and the familiar crimson-edged presence settled into the hall again. The treasury ledger remained open on the table before him, but the enchanted gold no longer looked like useless wealth trapped on the wrong side of the world.
He stood from the chair and looked down at the captured wealth. "Do not waste time preparing small portions."
Malachar raised his head slightly. "Master?"
"I will take the vault directly," Noctis said. "The enchanted gold, the holy medium ingots, the sanctified bars, the tithe seals, and anything else useful for trade. My blood storage can hold all of it."
Adrian lowered his head. "Understood, Master."
Malachar bowed as well. "Then I will prepare the inventory records instead. If Avalon's markets question the origin of the wealth, we will need names, quantities, seal types, and trade categories that can survive inspection."
"Good," Noctis said. "Prepare the records, not the cargo. Once the gate is stable, I am going to Avalon."
Adrian's gaze sharpened. "For relics and spell records, Master?"
"Relics, spells, sanctified weapons, and anything that can strengthen the fallen angels or the clergy," Noctis said. "The Church paid for these vaults. They can help pay for my army too."
The Academy payment worker shifted uncomfortably near the side of the table.
Noctis noticed. "You know something."
The worker lowered his head quickly. "Master, if you are truly going to Avalon, there may be something else worth looking for."
"Speak."
"The Church confiscates soul stones," the worker said. "They seize them from demon smugglers, necromancers, battlefield collectors, cultists, and heretical merchants. Most cities keep small sealed vaults, but Avalon is the capital. If there is a large stockpile anywhere, it would be there."
Adrian's eyes sharpened. "They store them instead of destroying them?"
"Yes," the worker said. "Some are evidence. Some are too dangerous to break carelessly. Some are kept for study. Some are sealed because no local priest wants responsibility if they crack open wrong."
Kael's mouth curved faintly. "And some are stolen by corrupt officials and sold quietly."
The worker said nothing.
That silence answered enough.
Noctis smiled slightly. "Then I will bring those back too."
The fortress economy shifted in that moment. Contribution points would connect the fortress to the Academy. Soul crystals would let demons trade directly. Abyssium ore and abyssal materials would support construction, repairs, weapons, armor, and gates. Enchanted gold would go where humans valued it most. Avalon became more than a market. It became a future target, a place where Noctis could turn Church wealth into holy relics, spell records, sanctified arms, and soul stones that had been locked away from the demon side of the world.
A messenger from the western court entered before the discussion could stretch further. He bowed at the threshold and kept his voice controlled despite the urgency in his posture. "Master, the central anchor is ready for first activation."
Noctis turned from the treasury ledger. "Let's see it."
Adrian, Malachar, and the Prelates followed him through the fortress corridors toward the western court. The route felt different after Devour had stripped out the old Church power. Former chapel thresholds no longer made demonic tools flicker. Old doorframe scripture sat dead in the stone. The walls still carried the memory of what they had been built for, but the power that once made them hostile to demon work was gone. The fortress was still being repaired, still being organized, still rough in too many places, but it no longer felt like a Church structure waiting to reject its new purpose.
The western processional court was busy but controlled when they returned. The central anchor plate had been seated into the foundation. Abyssium reinforcement plates framed its lower section, their dark surfaces holding the inscriptions without leaking power into the surrounding stone. Gate stones formed the beginning of a broad frame on the northern side of the court, high enough to show where the permanent structure would rise once the outer supports were complete. Formation rods pointed toward the Academy alignment, and ward insulation plates had been placed around the lower ring to protect the frame during later phases.
The lead formation specialist stood beside the central anchor with both hands hovering near the control rod. Sweat marked his brow, but his breathing remained steady. Rowan stood a short distance away with the site ledger open, while two fallen clergy held cracked foundation stones in place with blood scripture chains so nothing shifted during activation.
The specialist bowed when Noctis approached. "Master, we are ready to test the first anchor."
Noctis looked over the frame, the seated plates, and the unfinished ring. "Go ahead."
The specialist placed both hands on the control rod and sent demonic power into the central anchor. The Abyssium plates accepted the first pulse cleanly. The dark inscriptions along the anchor brightened, moved through the lower frame, and reached the gate stones without breaking formation. A low hum passed through the court, not loud enough to frighten anyone, but deep enough that the workers felt it through their boots.
The central crystal lit dark red.
For a few breaths, nothing else happened. The specialist adjusted the flow with careful pressure from both hands, and the formation rods answered one after another. A thin line rose from the anchor plate, curved through the unfinished frame, and trembled in the air above the northern side of the court. The workers held still as the line widened into a faint spatial ring.
It was not large enough for travel. It did not open fully into the Academy, and it could not carry even one person yet. But the direction was correct, the anchor held, and the ring remained stable instead of collapsing back into the frame. The first connection point had taken root.
The specialist kept his hands near the control rod a little longer before finally breathing out. "It's stable, Master."
Noctis looked through the faint distortion, then toward the unfinished frame around it. The fortress still needed more anchors, more plates, more inscriptions, more guards, more ledgers, more prices, and more time. Avalon waited somewhere beyond human territory with holy markets and sealed vaults. The fallen angels continued learning holy spells in the distance while demonic workers built a permanent gate inside a fortress that had belonged to the Church only days before. None of it was finished, but the first anchor had held.
Noctis gave a small nod. "Good. Continue with the next anchor."