CHAPTER 47: The Serpent's Madness
Imperial Grand Command – Fields of Judgment, The War Tent
The air in Lord Marshal Daegarn's command tent was cold, stagnant, thick with the scent of stale wine and an unspoken dread that had nothing to do with the winter outside. Archlector Malgrad, Lady Edraya, and Lord Tervan sat or stood around the large campaign map, their faces grim, their usual arguments muted by the sheer weight of exhaustion and frustration. But when Major Krell entered, his scorched-black plate armor grimier than usual, his face pale beneath the grime, an even deeper silence fell.
Krell was a man carved from granite, a Legate who had seen a hundred horrors and broken countless foes. Now, his eyes, usually cold, held a flicker of something close to terror. He bowed, a stiff, formal movement, and laid a small, bloodstained piece of parchment on the map.
"Report, Major," Daegarn commanded, his voice flat, but his knuckles were white where he gripped his sword hilt.
Krell's voice was hoarse, raw. "The Serpent's Spine is secured, Lord Marshal. The main artery remains blocked. But… it is not held. It is haunted."
Malgrad scoffed. "Superstition, Major. Your men are tired. The rebels play on their fears."
"They are not playing, Archlector," Krell retorted, his voice rising, a dangerous edge in it. "We lost fifty-three men. Not to ambush. Not to pitched battle. To… to *nothing*. Men vanished. Patrols returned gibbering, screaming of red eyes and whispers that drove them mad. We found Sergeant Boran, perfectly preserved, his face locked in silent horror, a message pinned to his armor." Krell pushed the parchment forward.
Daegarn picked it up. He read the words aloud, his voice gaining a chilling resonance: *"The Serpent's Veins flow. You are the blockage. We will make you bleed."* He looked up, his gaze fixing on Krell. "Who did this?"
"The Red Veil," Krell whispered, his voice trembling for the first time. "The cultists. They move like smoke. They melt from the walls. They corrupt the minds. Father Loris swears they are not men, but demons, feeding on our sanity. We had to restrain Private Tyrus; he was raving, screaming about a 'Serpent Witch.' They left no bodies, no blood, only madness. They are fighting us… from *within* our own ranks." His usual iron composure cracked. "My Legates… they are afraid of the dark, Lord Marshal."
Lord Tervan, the Quartermaster General, buried his face in his hands. "This is a nightmare. Our men are already half-starved, sick with dysentery from tainted wells, and now this? Morale will shatter. We cannot hold a position if our best soldiers fear the very shadows they stand in!"
Lady Edraya, her face etched with exhaustion, slammed her fist on the table. "This is Kael's work! He is turning us into monsters! He poisons the land, haunts the forests, starves our supply lines, and now he drives our men mad in the tunnels! He proves his vile doctrine with every step we take!"
"He means to make us fall without a single decisive battle," Daegarn said, his voice quiet, his eyes distant, seeing the full horror of Kael's strategy unfold. "To make us destroy ourselves. To prove that the Empire is indeed rotting from within, just as he claims." He clenched his gloved fist. "He wants us to confirm his prophecy."
Malgrad, surprisingly, was silent for a long moment. He looked at Krell, at the man's haunted eyes, and a cold, terrible understanding seemed to dawn on him. "This is not just heresy," he whispered. "This is an abomination. A war against the very soul. The Flame must consume this evil before it spreads." His gaze hardened, losing all traces of doubt. "We must find their sources of power. Their blasphemous altars. Their profane rituals. We must find their witch."
Daegarn turned to Lady Edraya. "How many more days until the main host reaches Duskwatch? The full siege engines. The heavy artillery."
Edraya swallowed. "Two weeks, Lord Marshal. At current pace. Three, if the Serpent's Spine continues to vex our engineers. Our supplies are stretched, our men are… strained. We need this to end."
Daegarn slammed his hand on the map, directly on the Serpent's Spine. "It ends now. Lord Tervan, you will issue a new order. Every unit, every Legate, every Purifier—their primary objective in the Serpent's Spine is no longer just holding the blockade. It is to hunt. To find this Red Veil witch. To find Seyda."
He looked at Krell. "Major, you will lead the hunt. You will use every man. Every resource. You will flood those tunnels with light and steel until this… 'Serpent's Ghost' is dragged into the open. Bring me her head. Or bring me her body. I care not which. But bring me a trophy that will end this madness."
Malgrad nodded, a grim satisfaction spreading across his face. "The Flame will guide your hand, Major. For those who traffic in profanity and fear, there is only one true judgment: the pyre."
Daegarn knew the cost. He knew Kael wanted them to descend into this kind of madness, to commit these atrocities. But the Legion's very sanity was at stake. He would fight Kael's ghosts with fire and overwhelming force.
Outside the tent, the vast Imperial host, starved and frustrated, rumbled ominously, its endless ranks now filled not just with hunger, but with a new, chilling paranoia. The serpent had indeed sunk its fangs deep, driving the Empire's finest to the brink of desperation. The hunt was on, and Kael's strategy was pushing his enemies into a terrifying response.