Chapter 1087. They Are Ready to Die, But More Importantly, Ready to Kill

Chapter 1087: 1087. They Are Ready to Die, But More Importantly, Ready to Kill

Rex didn’t flinch under Morwenna’s scrutiny. He met her gaze with a predator’s stillness, refusing to allow her suspicion to derail the grim calculus of the room.

He could feel her distrust like a physical heat between them. She saw the risks; she saw the potential for another catastrophe like the one on the island, but she didn’t yet see the necessity of the slaughter to come.

"The site wasn’t chosen by whim or desperation, Morwenna," Rex said, his voice cutting through the stifling tension like a blade. "It was selected based on the Underlayer intelligence archives’ documentation of the northern zone’s defensive properties."

"The archives are explicit: that zone is a death trap for any attacking force that lacks geological class support."

"The terrain itself is hostile, designed to grind intruders into powder."

"And equally favorable for a defending force that possesses it," Morwenna countered immediately, her voice sharp, each word a challenge. "You’re talking about walking into a fortress designed to kill anything that moves."

"We are not going there to defend," Rex snapped, his patience fraying at the edges.

The raw intensity in his eyes warned her not to push further. "We are going there to engage."

"To hunt... But we will execute that engagement at a site where the terrain advantages have been inverted, where the ground itself will bend to our will instead of theirs."

Morwenna held his gaze for several agonizing seconds, searching for a crack in his resolve, for any sign that he was gambling with lives recklessly. When she found none, she finally broke eye contact, though her jaw remained set in a rigid line.

"The training," she said, shifting the focus to the practical reality of the meat that would be thrown into the grinder. "The household’s training program under your direct supervision."

"The unit’s current capability level... Can they survive the reality of what they’re walking into?"

"The capability level is the highest it has been in the documented history of this program," Rex answered without hesitation.

In his mind, he saw the faces of his soldiers, the bruises, the broken ribs from live fire drills, and the hollow eyes of men who had learned that mercy was a luxury they could no longer afford.

’They are ready to die,’ he thought grimly, ’but more importantly, they are ready to kill.’

Morwenna looked down at the obsidian table, studying the reflections of the flickering candles as if reading the fates of those about to fall.

"The timeline," Apollo interrupted, his voice cutting through the emotional weight with cold, tactical urgency. "How long before we lose control of the situation?"

"Days," Rex said, the word landing like a guillotine blade. "Not weeks."

"When the key is complete, the engagement window opens automatically."

"We won’t be choosing when the war starts; we’ll simply be choosing where it happens."

"The Underlayer’s leadership is not naive; they will not wait indefinitely for the Key to appear."

"The moment that dimensional seal cracks open, it will trigger an immediate, violent operational response."

"They will send someone through to intercept," Apollo predicted, his mind already running through contingency protocols. "A scout, a harbinger, something to test the waters."

"No," Rex said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "They won’t send a scout."

"They will send the hammer..."

"They will deploy the specific force that their leadership has been mobilizing in anticipation of the key engagement."

"That is exactly what the New Key’s construction was designed to provoke."

He leaned forward, his shadow swallowing the center of the table. "We are baiting them, Apollo."

"We are forcing them to commit their strongest assets to a single point—a point where my authority over the earth will turn their own battlefield into their grave."

"We aren’t just waiting for them to attack; we are engineering the exact moment they become vulnerable."

Apollo didn’t look up. His eyes remained fixed on the obsidian surface of the table, staring into the dark reflection as if he could already see the tactical maps of the slaughter to come.

"We prepare," Apollo said, his voice stripped of all inflection. It was the sound of a man signing a death warrant. "Immediately..."

"Full readiness from tomorrow morning... No exceptions... No delays."

Rex gave a single, curt nod. The decision was absolute.

Valentina rose then. She didn’t command the room with volume but with a presence that seemed to drain the oxygen from the air.

She looked around at each of them—the strategists, the warriors, and the survivors—and spoke not of logistics, but of the soul of their civilization.

"We are asking for a fourth miracle," Valentina said, her voice carrying the bitter edge of exhaustion. "This city has been broken, bled, and rebuilt three times in a single generation."

"We are asking a population that still carries the scars of the last engagement to prepare for another."

"The network owes them more than just orders; it owes them a promise that this sacrifice won’t be in vain."

Her gaze hardened as she swept it across the council. "Preparation requires more than weapons and fortified walls."

"It requires the network’s absolute commitment to the people who will be standing on those walls."

"We must prove that Aethelgard is worth saving, not just surviving."

With those words, she closed the meeting. The silence that followed was heavy, pregnant with the unspoken reality of what they had just committed to.

The room dispersed with the grim efficiency of a wounded animal seeking shelter. Conversations didn’t flow; they fractured into sharp, urgent fragments as people began to calculate the practical costs of their impending doom: ammunition counts, medical supplies, and casualty projections.

Rex walked out of the meeting room alone. His footsteps echoed through the academy’s corridors with a flat, metronomic, steady rhythm.

His mind was a storm of tactical variables, but his body moved with the mechanical precision of a man who had already accepted his own death. He had no interest in the post-meeting chatter.

He had a destination.

He reached the east wing of the Nightwing household. This was Morwenna’s domain, the makeshift nerve center where administrative survival was managed while the primary offices remained occupied by the wreckage of reconstruction.

He knocked. The sound was sharp and impatient.

"Come in," Morwenna’s voice called from behind the heavy oak door.

It sounded hollow, as if she were speaking from the bottom of a well.

When Rex entered, the air in the office felt thick with stress and old paper. Morwenna was hunched over her desk, three documents spread before her like ritual offerings.

Her hands were pressed against her temples, fingers digging into her skin in that universal gesture of someone fighting a losing battle against exhaustion and impossible problems.

She looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot, dark circles carved beneath them like bruises.

She glanced at the documents, then at Rex, then back to the documents, before finally fixing her gaze on him with a stare that could have pierced armor.

"The household’s reputation," she began, skipping any pretense of pleasantries.

Her voice was quiet, but it carried the venom of a bitter truth.

"I am aware," Rex replied, standing rigid.

"Let’s not mince words, Rex."

"The specific quality of our standing after the last month, after the horrors we witnessed today, is catastrophic." She leaned forward, the lamplight casting jagged shadows across her face. "Aethelgard’s public understanding of the Nightwing household has shifted irrevocably."

"We are no longer seen as protectors."

"We are considered the architects of disaster."

"To the people, we are the household that produced Theo Morr Nightwing, a man who wielded divine designation to butcher civilians."

"Worse, we are the household that proved itself utterly incapable of restraining him."

Rex didn’t flinch. He knew the accusation was accurate.

He could still hear the screams of the civilians in his dreams, a wet, gurgling chorus that never truly faded.

"The political and financial foundations of this house in Aethelgard’s governance are not separate from our image," Morwenna continued, her fingers drumming a nervous, agitated rhythm on the desk. "They are fused to it."

"Our influence is hemorrhaging..."

"Our authority is being questioned by every minor noble and merchant guild with a grudge..."

"We are walking on glass, Rex... And you want to ask us to march into the Underlayer?"