I Destroy the Empire

Chapter 6: The Grandmaster

A single ray of dawn cut across the bedroom.

It was a room of stark, cold luxury. Black marble, silver inlay, and not a single personal item to be seen.

Lord Commander Theron Valerius sat on the edge of his massive, four-poster bed.

He was already dressed in simple, immaculate white tunic and black trousers. His silver-grey hair was perfectly styled and not a single strand was out of place. He had been awake for an hour or so.

His Icey blue eyes were fixed on the board.

He reached out a steady, pale hand and slid his white queen, taking a black knight.

Check.

He stared at the position for a long moment. Then, his face, a mask of calm control, twitched.

SLAM.

His open palm hit the table beside the board, a violent, cracking sound that echoed in the silent room. The chess pieces rattled, but none fell.

A flash of raw anger. It was there, and then it was gone, replaced by the same cold stillness.

This new player... this "Pyralis Cinderfall"... had just taken one of his pieces. A minor one, yes… Lord Valgus was a disgusting, expendable pawn… but he had taken it. Right off Theron's board.

Theron stood with a picture-perfect posture. He began his morning routine. He shaved with a razor-sharp dagger, his hand never shaking. He dressed in his immaculate black and silver uniform, adjusting the cuffs of his gauntlets until they were perfectly aligned.

He was a man of order. Of control.

This... new element... was chaos. And he would not tolerate it. Chaos was meant to be controlled with order.

He walked out of his chambers. Instantly, two First Knights, clad in shining, sun-crested plate armor, flanked him. Their movements were silent and automatic. They walked him down the grand, echoing hall of the First Knight's citadel.

"Wait outside," Theron commanded as they reached his private strategy room.

"Sir!" they barked, planting themselves on either side of the door.

Theron entered. The room was dark, dominated by a massive, polished obsidian table that reflected the slit of light from the armoured window.

He walked to the far wall, to a tall, silver-framed mirror. He stared at his own reflection. Cold. Calculating. In control.

He raised a hand and spoke a single, coded word.

“NIMOS.”

The mirror's surface rippled, the silver light turning a sickly, magical green. His reflection dissolved, replaced by the face of Vice Commander Aelia Solara. She was in full armour, her red hair wind whipped. She looked tired.

“Aelia,” Theron’s voice was flat. “Report.”

“You were right, Lord Commander,” Aelia’s voice was crisp, but he could hear the frustration in it. “Lord Valgus is dead. Dissolved, by some kind of acidic agent. His family has been sent to a re-education cloister.”

“And the Wyvern?”

Aelia hesitated. “Nefeli gave pursuit. She confirmed it was a common mountain Wyvern, but she... she lost them over the Noble District.”

Theron’s eyes narrowed. “Lost them? Her draconic senses are second only to Fenris’s.”

“It was her flaw, sir,” Aelia said, her dislike for the draconic assassin barely veiled. “She can match its speed, but the Wyvern flew straight over the Royal Palace. Nefeli couldn't maintain pursuit without... announcing her true nature to the entire capital. She made the logical choice to disengage.”

Theron nodded. That was acceptable. A small, tactical retreat.

“And the perpetrators?”

“We confirmed the name this time, my Lord. Valgus’s wife heard it clearly. He referred to himself as ‘Pyralis Cinderfall’.”

Theron’s gaze drifted from the mirror, his mind working. Pacing. Analysing.

“Pyralis... Cinderfall...” He tasted the name. It meant nothing.

“Could it be Seraph?” Aelia asked, her voice tight. “This pattern... these nobles they’ve been hitting. They all have some history of a tragic love affair. It feels... theatrical. Like something he would do.”

Theron almost scoffed.

“Don’t be sentimental, Aelia. Seraph Ignis is dead. We poisoned every organ in that mangled body before his little friends staged their pathetic rescue. And even if he survived, he’s not smart enough for this.”

Theron turned and paced, his boots clicking on the stone floor. He looked at the giant flag of Veridia hanging on the wall.

“Seraph was a tool. A loyal, dumb, brilliant blade. He struck where I pointed. He had no guile, no patience for this kind of long-term... game.”

He stopped. “But this ‘Pyralis’... He’s smart.”

“Sir?”

“The pattern, Aelia. The ‘star-crossed lovers’.” Theron tapped his finger against his chin. “Yes, I shared your belief of it being Seraph after seeing the hits on the map but then, I realised after the third hit. It’s symbolic. It was designed to be noticed.”

He paused, a flicker of something... respect?... in his icy eyes.

“But Valgus,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “Valgus ruins the pattern. The man was a pig. A loyal pig, but a pig nonetheless. No tragic love. No lost romance. Just greed and perversion. He doesn’t fit.”

Aelia said, “Sir, maybe they just got the wrong information? Or they're just striking at random nobles?”

“No,” Theron said, his voice sharp. “They are not random. They are making me think they're messy. They are breaking their own pattern to make me underestimate them. To make me think they’re amateurs.”

He smiled. A cold, thin smile that held no warmth.

“They are trying to play my game. How... adorable.”

He turned back to the mirror.

“I will give the orders in one hour. I want a full garrison of First Knights, battle-ready. And Aelia... bring me Fenris. Bring me Brog. And bring me Nefeli.”

The mirror went dark.

Theron stared at his own reflection again.

“Pyralis Cinderfall,” he whispered. “You just put your first piece on my board. Let’s see how long you last.”

Back in the lair, Pyralis Cinderfall was grinning from ear to ear.

“He’s seen it,” Pyralis said, practically vibrating with energy. “I know that bastard. He’s seen the star. He’s seen the ‘lover’s’ pattern. And right now, he’s congratulating himself for spotting the one flaw.”

“Valgus,” Kaelen said, not looking up from a complex detonator he was wiring.

“Exactly! Valgus! He’ll think we made a mistake, or that we’re sloppy. He’ll think he’s outsmarted us!”

Pyralis jabbed his metal finger at the centre of the city map.

“He knows we’re going to hit the Astrea Warehouse. He’s predicted it. And he is going to send the house.”

Elara, who was sharpening a set of throwing knives, finally spoke. “You’re sure he’ll send both of them? Brog and Fenris? Seems like overkill for a warehouse.”

“It’s not overkill if he thinks we’re slippery,” Pyralis said. “He’s a grandmaster, remember? He doesn't just send one piece. He’ll send Brog and a garrison of knights as the ‘hammer’. They will surround the warehouse and smash everything inside. That’s the obvious move.”

He then tapped a wide circle around the warehouse on the map.

“But Theron knows we have a Wyvern. He knows we can move. So, he’ll send Fenris, the wolf, as the ‘hunter’. Fenris won’t go in. He’ll circle the perimeter, hidden, just sniffing the air, waiting for us to run. His job is to track the escapees and kill us in the dark.”

Bo, who was strapping on his heavy greaves, grunted. “So, we fight two lieutenants at once? Bad plan, Seph.”

“It’s Pyralis,” he snapped. “And no. It’s a great plan. Because Theron? He’s smart... but he’s arrogant. He’s working with old information.”

Pyralis’s grin turned feral.

“He thinks the warehouse is abandoned.”

Kaelen looked up, a small, proud smile on his face. “But it’s not.”

“But it’s not!” Pyralis echoed. “Kaelen, you magnificent bastard, tell them.”

Kaelen stood and wiped his hands on a clean silk cloth.

“Theron, for all his spies, only sees the Capital. His not a man of the people and therefore, he'll miss one, tiny detail.”

He pointed to the warehouse. “Tonight is the Astrea Night Market. It's an illegal, pop-up party for the commoners and lower nobles. Music, food, black market goods. Hundreds of people.”

Elara’s eyes widened. “We’re... we’re attacking a party?”

“We are not,” Kaelen said, pushing his glasses up. “We are using it. The owner of the warehouse, Lord Astrea, is a degenerate gambler. He owes me a debt which makes him mine and his daughter just got engaged.”

Pyralis pointed at Kaelen. “To whom?”

“My younger brother,” Kaelen said, his face twisting in disgust. “A necessary, if distasteful, alliance. But it means Lord Astrea has given us... creative control... over his little gathering.”

Elara raised an eyebrow. “You sold your brother for this?”

“No… My parents wanted one of us to get married and since I rebelled, my brother took the fall. This is just a bonus...” he stopped and faced Pyralis, "What if you're wrong and he knows about the Party?"

"Plan B then. Don't ask, it will just make it more complex. Just focus... It will all come together."

“This changes everything,” Bo rumbled, finally understanding.

“It does,” Pyralis said, his voice electric. “Theron is sending Brog, to smash an empty building. Instead, Brog is going to find himself crashing a party full of commoners... and, more importantly, minor nobles.”

The genius of it hit Elara. “The witnesses... Theron hates witnesses. He can't let Brog just... slaughter them.”

“Exactly!” Pyralis shouted. “It neutralizes the hammer! Brog will be confused. His men will be confused, and they’ll be surrounded by screaming civilians. They can’t just start swinging. It’ll be a political nightmare for Theron. Brog will be too busy managing the chaos to even think about us.”

“So Brog is the distraction,” Lyra said, her first words since the meeting started. She was holding her dark, shadow-infused greatsword, but it was currently shimmered into the shape of a simple, elegant cane.

“Brog is the loudest distraction in the world,” Pyralis confirmed. “Might even be the light show. Kaelen, you, and Lyra will be inside, dressed as guests. You’ll be our insurance. If Brog’s men do get violent, Lyra... you have my permission to get... protective.”

Lyra’s violet eyes flashed. She nodded.

Pyralis then turned to Elara and Bo. “While the entire First Knight garrison is trying to figure out why they’ve just become party-crashers... we make our escape.”

“And Fenris?” Elara asked, sliding her knives into their sheaths.

Pyralis’s smile was gone. His face was cold.

“Fenris will not be a problem. I promise."