Eason raised a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting as if he were entertained by a private joke.
"Then perhaps," he said mildly, voice polished smooth by decades of command, "you should enlighten me. Who exactly is in charge here? So we can stop dancing around it."
Shane didn't hesitate. He lifted a hand and pointed straight ahead.
"Him."
Klaus stiffened—then recoiled like he'd been struck by lightning.
"Me?!" he squeaked, his voice jumping an octave as he clutched his chest. "Why, Shane, I never knew you felt this way."
He shot Shane a wounded look. "Throwing me into the fire without warning? I thought we had something special. Partners. Equals. Brothers bound by shared misery."
Shane only spread his hands, palms up, absolving himself.
"Can't argue with facts."
Eason laughed, a warm, rasping sound that carried far more weight than it should have. He leaned on his cane, eyes narrowing with interest as he studied Klaus.
"Ah," he said, amused. "Youth. Always loud. Always dramatic. Always convinced they're not being obvious."
Samantha said nothing.
Her gaze slid between Shane and Klaus, slow and precise, like a blade measuring distance. Her expression remained flat, unreadable—but the slight tightening of her jaw suggested she already understood something.
Klaus let out a long sigh and turned back to Shane, the theatrics draining from his face.
"You're serious," he said quietly.
Shane nodded once.
That was all the confirmation he needed.
Eason straightened his back, his presence suddenly heavier. "Very well," he said. "Since you've decided who speaks, shall we begin?"
He tapped his cane against the ground once.
"I want you to assemble an army of subjugators. Six parties. Three-star rank or higher."
Klaus's smile vanished.
"So," he said slowly, voice dropping, "we're talking about a war." His eyes stayed on Eason. "Let me guess. Lizardmen? Kobolds?" A pause. "Quartzmen?"
He tilted his head. "Or are we skipping straight to golems?"
"Goblins," Eason said, without hesitation.
The word cut deep.
Klaus's eyes widened, and for a heartbeat, the present fractured. Two years of memories surged up uninvited—fields littered with bodies, the reek of blood and smoke, fire staining the sky while screams drowned out orders.
"We're not participating," Klaus said.
The room seemed to exhale—and then hold its breath.
Shane's expression darkened, his jaw tightening as though a name had been spoken that belonged only to the dead. He said nothing, but the silence around him grew heavy.
Eason regarded them calmly.
"As subjugators," he said, "you exist to protect the innocent. That is your duty."
Klaus let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Protect the innocent," he repeated softly. "That's rich." His eyes hardened. "Who exactly are you trying to convince, old man?"
He leaned back slightly. "And just so we're clear—we retain the right to decline any mission."
Samantha finally spoke.
"A coward like you," she said flatly, "should never have been allowed to wear the title of a subjugator."
The words were blunt. Surgical.
Klaus turned toward her, smiling thinly.
"Funny," he replied. "Coming from someone who couldn't even protect her own comrades."
His eyes flickered, "I really wish I could see the looks on the Moving Fortress and the Priestess when they realize they've been abandoned."
Samantha's fingers curled, knuckles whitening.
She took a step forward—
"Enough."
Shane's voice cut through the room like steel.
Hatred flickered across his face, though no one could tell whom it was meant for. He didn't look at Klaus or Samantha.
"Focus."
Then he turned to Eason and bowed slightly.
"Old Duke Leonhart," Shane said, controlled and formal, "I humbly apologize. But we must decline your offer."
Eason shook his head slowly.
"You truly never grew up, Shaney," he said. "Your emotion still clouds your judgment."
He lifted a finger.
"A third of the loot will be yours once the war concludes. Every participant will receive formal recommendations for rank advancement—from Duke Sater of Solrien and Duke Hemline of Crowvale." His eyes gleamed faintly. "And, of course, the favor of the people of Kollus."
Shane answered immediately.
"And those who die?" he asked. "They'll be forgotten. Their widows and orphans will receive a cold medal and a handful of coins instead of the warm hands of their loved ones."
Eason went silent.
He remembered the news about the Battle of Aegulus—how the fallen received no prayers, no names carved in stone. Only a letter. And a few coins.
"…Then I will add that," Eason said at last. "A memorial for the fallen. And the widows and orphans will never know hunger again."
Klaus tilted his head, as if the idea had only just occurred to him.
"No slaves," he said calmly. "If you fulfill everything you just promised, we'll gather the men you need."
The words lingered.
For the first time since the negotiation began, Eason's expression cracked. His eyes widened—only slightly, but enough. He had expected greed, ambition, maybe moral flexibility. He had not expected this.
Even Shane's fingers paused mid-movement, hovering near his belt before slowly relaxing again.
Eason let out a low hum.
"Interesting," he murmured. "You're the first to ask that." He studied Klaus carefully. "Is that all?"
Klaus didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he reached out and lightly tapped the massive Howitzer resting beside him. The metal hummed once, then shattered into motes of pale light. In a blink, it vanished, absorbed into his Mindforger as if it had never existed.
"One more thing," Klaus said casually, dusting his hands together. "I want a different share." He smiled. "A fourth of the loot will be sufficient."
Eason's brows knit together.
"A fourth?" he repeated. "Aren't you being greedy, young man?"
Klaus's smile didn't fade. If anything, it became lighter—almost friendly—yet something sharp hid beneath it.
"No," he said simply. "I just know my value. If you want me to join, a fourth is enough."
Eason's gaze hardened.
"Your self-evaluation carries no merit, kid," he replied. "You believe yourself more valuable than a Keeper?" His cane tapped once against the stone ground. "Refusing to involve slaves is already an absurd demand. Now you want a separate share?"
Klaus shrugged.
"If you can't fulfill my request," he said, voice still easy, "then I'm out."
Eason frowned deeply and turned his eyes downward, lost in thought. Truthfully, the preparation had been a disaster. Convincing two dukes alone had taken weeks of negotiation, favors, and concessions, only to secure a hundred soldiers from each. The subjugator alliances of Solrien had rejected the proposal outright, calling it too risky. Too costly with little gain.
The Keepers' remaining hope rested on scattered alliances in Crowvale—and even those were unreliable.
Eason exhaled slowly, the weight of age pressing down on his shoulders.
"Let us settle this another day," he said at last. "This old man is tired."
He lifted his gaze back to Klaus.
"I hope you'll reconsider my offer."
Klaus nodded once.
"I will."
Eason raised his cane and traced a slow arc through the air. Space shuddered, then split open, forming a dark rift that swallowed light itself. Without another word, he stepped forward and vanished into it, the tear sealing behind him with a soft, final whisper.
Samantha looked at Shane, then at Klaus. Her lips parted slightly, as if she intended to speak—but whatever words came to mind never left her tongue. Instead, her expression hardened, and she turned away.
A moment later, her body dissolved into drifting smoke, scattering and fading until nothing remained.