Chapter 722: That’s impossible!
Chapter 722: That’s impossible!
The scrying mirrors fractured simultaneously.
The image that had been crystal-clear moments before, but Jack’s position suddenly turned pitch black.
The obsidian void consumed the entire screen.
One of the junior operators stationed before the largest mirror jerked backward in his chair, his hands hovering over the enchanted controls. He clicked his tongue, searching for a reason why they weren’t working.
"The feed is... the feed is gone," he said, his voice cracking with the uncertainty of someone reporting catastrophic failure. "All coordinates displaying the human’s position have gone black. I’m attempting to recalibrate the primary array, but the signal is fragmenting at the transmission point."
Queen Morvanna’s hand convulsed around her golden goblet.
The liquid that had been suspended midway to her lips erupted outward in a cascade of amber that descended across the emerald silk of her royal robes.
The drink splattered against her collarbone, soaked into the delicate fabric, dripped downward in rivulets that seemed to mock her perfect aristocratic composure.
Her jaw clenched so violently that the muscles along her cheekbones visibly contracted.
"Repair it," she commanded, her voice cutting across the observation chamber with the force of absolute authority. "I don’t care what you have to do. Restore the feed immediately."
The operator’s hands moved frantically across the control array. His fingers danced across crystalline surfaces that glowed with elven magic.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he attempted every recalibration sequence he had been trained to execute. Nothing worked. The screens remained black wherever Jack Kaiser’s position should have been visible.
Every element of the battle except Jack himself had been rendered in perfect clarity.
It was as if the human had simply ceased to exist for the elven scrying arrays.
King Maelor leaned forward slightly, his ancient eyes tracking the visible portions of the battlefield with the cold precision of a ruler who had spent centuries understanding military engagement.
His hand rested against the stone armrest of his throne, and though his posture remained composed, his consciousness was crystallizing around a single, undeniable reality.
The human had just blinded their surveillance network.
Not through destruction or magical assault. Through something far more sophisticated.
A jamming signal that had been deployed with the precision of someone who understood exactly what they were doing and why.
The elves could see everything except Jack Kaiser. Which meant Jack could move, could act, could execute tactics that the draconic forces would have to respond to based entirely on eyesight and positioning.
The advantage had just shifted in ways that Maelor’s tactical framework was only beginning to process.
Myrine Archon’s breath caught in her throat.
Her hand, which had been resting calmly on the council table, suddenly convulsed into a fist. Her nails began to dig into her palm.
Not aggressively, but with the relentless pressure of someone whose entire body was responding to shock before her conscious mind could formulate an appropriate response.
"The scrying arrays have been deliberately compromised," she said aloud, her voice carrying the weight of strategic analysis even as it cracked at the edges. "This wasn’t a system failure. This was intentional magical interference operating at a level that suggests someone with deep knowledge of our infrastructure. Someone who understood exactly how to create a sensory vacuum around a specific location while leaving the rest of the battlefield perfectly visible."
Her words hung in the air like an accusation.
Queen Morvanna’s golden eyes snapped toward Myrine with the intensity of a predator who had just identified prey. She set her goblet down with deliberate force, the crystal striking the marble table hard enough to create a sharp, reverberating sound that made several of the younger guards flinch.
"Are you suggesting," the Queen said, each word delivered with absolute precision, "that the human anticipated our surveillance and prepared countermeasures in advance?"
Myrine’s other hand joined the first, both palms pressing flat against the table. Her knuckles began to whiten as she applied pressure, as if the physical force could somehow anchor her consciousness against the implications of what was unfolding.
"I’m suggesting," Myrine replied, "that the human demonstrated knowledge of elven magical systems that should not exist outside of our highest archives. Which means either he had access to information he shouldn’t possess, or someone within our kingdom provided it to him."
The observation chamber fell into the kind of suffocating silence that comes when powerful people simultaneously recognize that control has just slipped from their grasp.
On the visible portions of the scrying mirror, the remaining dragons continued their descent.
A figure emerged from one of the largest portals on the battlefield.
The moment her form became visible on the screens, something shifted in the chamber.
The Queen’s entire body went rigid. Her daughters, who had been standing with the careful posture of aristocratic training, suddenly began to fragment under the weight of what they were witnessing.
Miravelle’s silver-blonde hair caught the light as her head snapped toward the scrying mirror. Her eyes widened with the particular shock that came from recognizing something that defied her understanding of reality.
Her hand reached out toward her mother, not grasping, but seeking. The gesture of someone desperate for reassurance that what they were seeing was actually real.
"Mother," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "That’s a human. She’s... is she leading the creatures?"
Elysanthe’s aristocratic mask, that carefully constructed facade of perfect composure that had been refined across her entire life, shattered.
Her lips parted. Her breathing became shallow, rapid, and uncontrolled. Her hands gripped the back of the nearest chair hard enough that her knuckles matched Myrine’s in their violent whiteness.
She stared at the scrying mirror with the particular intensity of someone whose entire worldview was undergoing fundamental revision.
"That’s impossible," Elysanthe breathed, her voice carrying none of the composed certainty that typically characterized her speech. "Humans don’t possess that kind of magical sophistication. They don’t command monster armies. They don’t... She’s not even attempting to hide her authority. She’s simply commanding them, as if... As if she was born to it."
Rosethiel made a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.
Her hand shot outward and gripped her mother’s arm. Not gently, but with the desperate force of a creature seeking safety that would not be offered.
Her eyes were locked on the scrying mirror, watching the woman with liquid-copper hair and minimal clothing begin to position herself for some kind of assault on the draconic formations.
Queen Morvanna’s hand found her daughter’s shoulder. Her grip was firm, steady, communicating through physical contact what her voice was too controlled to express directly.
She pulled Rosethiel closer, a gesture of maternal protection that was genuine despite her earlier coldness.
"We are still watching," the Queen said quietly, her words directed at her daughters but carrying implications that extended far beyond them. "We observe. We do not panic. We understand what we are witnessing so that we might respond appropriately."
But even as she spoke, even as she attempted to maintain control, her own composure was fracturing at the edges.
The liquid that had soaked into her emerald robes was beginning to dry, creating visible stains that mocked her earlier elegance.
Sariel Nyctelios felt the blood drain from his face.