"Are you trying to say everything that happened was because of Nathan? Don't be ridiculous!" Zeryn slammed his hand on the table. "Everything has limits, Lachlan. Don't you dare try to pin this on him."

Ice flooded Nathan's veins as his mind dissolved into static. The feeling mirrored gaining [Martial Arts Mastery], a torrent of information he couldn't process. It wasn't some lingering effect of the Universal Root meal that tormented him, but the disastrous consequences it had set in motion months ago. Memories flickered before him like invisible holograms, linking that long-ago decision to the battlefield of today.

Was any of this his fault? The question was a maddening spiral. He wasn't naive enough to believe it was all coincidence, yet if someone was pulling the strings, they were far beyond his reach. The chain of causality was undeniable: the banquet only happened because Elder Nalani had stolen his Shifting Trials slot. So, was it her fault? No, that path led nowhere.

What truly staggered him was the realization that a single, small decision had detonated this entire catastrophe.

"Of course not," Lachlan said calmly. "I don't let emotion cloud my logic. But Nathan needs to understand this is a possibility during the campaign. The enemy might use this detail to strike him down before he can swing his sword."

Zeryn crossed his arms, appearing to agree. "You're not wrong about that."

"I'm rarely wrong, remember that." His gaze swirled toward the sword genius, then turned to Nathan. "I had to drag you out here to avoid having to testify before the council of those government showoffs. They're desperate for a scapegoat. They can't admit the real reason the Merinor house reached this dead end is because no one would help a child carrying an Entropy Aspect. Fortunately, you chose to enroll in the war, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to snatch you away."

"I don't think we're close enough for you to go that far for me," Nathan said.

"Nothing can come from nothing." The Major shrugged. "I'm doing this more for my own benefit. I know you enough that this act will make you more lenient toward me."

Nathan remained silent, his gaze fixed on the holographic image of the battlefield simulation.

"So what's our move?" Nathan asked. "We know their strength."

"We understand the enemy's reasoning and motivation, so the next step is adaptation," Lachlan said, crossing his arms. "I'm sure you know the Equal Clash law in the War Convention?"

Nathan nodded, recalling what he had studied before departing. In war, two opposing sides could propose fighting methods at specific tiers to achieve certain agreements. Tier 2s could fight while Tier 4s and 5s maintained ceasefire, avoiding unnecessary destruction. Of course, this law was rarely invoked unless there was a special situation. Like now, when high-tier cultivators were clearly stuck in stalemate. The consequences of this were more worrying than war costs and dangers from external forces eager to seize benefits.

"Duke Kael Voss and Mirothea's leadership have proposed Equal Clash terms," Lachlan announced.

"Mirothea, not us?" Zeryn exclaimed in question.

"That's right, hard to believe, isn't it?" Lachlan smirked, showing interest.

"You sound like you're on the opposing side instead of Caelindor," Zeryn said.

"Can't I admire them?"

"Will you two shut up?" Nathan snapped.

Lachlan pulled out a paper that was clearly a copy from under the table and placed it in front for everyone to see. Zeryn and Nathan skimmed through it, quickly understanding the content.

"This is what could be called the ultimate psychological warfare move from Mirothea's side," Lachlan assessed. "They're so confident they're giving us a chance. Not only that, they've revealed that Arthur just broke through to Tier 3 Phase 1. They're allowing us to send Tier 2 and 3 legions to attack Mirothea, turning off the defensive mana dome. Anyone who defeats Arthur will have Maelivar returned to Caelindor. Conversely, if we fail, then Maelivar is off the table. Even the Tier 4s and 5s attacking from airspace must stop. We can siege the city but can no longer send troops to assault it. The battlefield will then only remain at the border. Once that front line collapses, Maelivar will belong to the enemy."

"A blatant trap," Nathan assessed.

"Yes." Lachlan nodded. "A trap that we are willing to jump into."

"Surely the army isn't actually considering this?" Nathan's voice was strained. This was no different from an invitation to step into a beast's mouth. According to what Lachlan had said earlier, this Entropy formation could affect the entire city. So wouldn't the soldiers or disciples entering become targets themselves?

"Caelindor has no leverage," Zeryn said, narrowing his eyes. "Completely weak in this war. So we'll take any chance we can get, even if it doesn't look promising. Am I right, Lachlan?"

Lachlan's expression turned serious. Nathan saw the grim acceptance in the Major's eyes; an entire nation was gambling on its youngest geniuses.

"Once Mirothea truly succeeds," Lachlan said, his voice heavy, "Caelindor's morale will completely disappear. This clearly states Arthur is the strongest among all. And we must find a way to prove them wrong by defeating that bastard."

"Us? As in you and Zeryn?" Nathan asked.

"And you too, Nathan," Lachlan smiled. "The top 64 are all called for this operation. Of course, except for those annoying brats from Azure Lake Academy and The Thousand Stars Pavilion. That arrogant Zhanyu is an excellent candidate for fighting against Entropy, but we can't deploy him."

Nathan sighed. Aside from Zhanyu, Evelyn seemed like another formidable force. He still remembered the final moment at The Shifting Trials: her power transcending all limits to freeze space itself, an act bordering on omnipotence. Perhaps if she were here, his team might be able to counter the entropy acceleration from Arthur Merinor.

"Equal Clash is our last bet," Lachlan said, indicating the attack direction toward Maelivar's western gate. "Just reclaim Maelivar, and we'll have the resource reserves in this city again, and the border battle will turn around. We don't have much time, so you two stay ready."

"Do the people out there know?" Nathan pointed outside the door. "About this campaign?"

"They know the general situation but not the specifics," Lachlan answered. "They just need to know what to do."

"Even when you lead them to their deaths?"

Lachlan laughed loudly, his face full of satisfaction. "They've known that since the first days."

Zeryn and Nathan left Lachlan's room and returned to the area designated for Verdant Spire Sect. The Major still had to meet with other forces. For all his arrogance, Lachlan was methodical. Nathan realized the separate meetings weren't just for show; they were a calculated move to prevent infighting among the allied forces. This made Nathan wonder why their leader claimed they didn't have much time but was doing things that didn't seem helpful at present. It seemed like Lachlan was waiting for something. The time pressure hadn't yet fallen on their heads.

Nathan sat on his bed, legs trembling, head numb under the pressure he had just created for himself. He was trying to pre-charge the strikes from his passive skills. The charge counters for his passive skills—[Amplifying Strikes], [Flowing Strikes], [Internal Trauma], and more—climbed into the thousands. The total had to reach several thousand for each variation in attack patterns. Added to that was memorizing general samples like the 12th, 16th, 20th, and 35th strikes. Only now did he truly appreciate the appearance of [Muscle Memory]. Without it, he wouldn't remember the differences between the types of punches he created.

He somewhat wished he had chosen the path of pure chance instead of methodical from the passive system.

He couldn't calm his racing mind, so he poured his anxiety into his skills. Though he knew the Arthur Merinor incident only had a thin connection to himself, he still couldn't shake it from his head. The main problem was the consequences that followed. Invisible paths materialized in his mind's eye, forks in the road leading to unknown futures. Most frightening was that he was only being swept along without any control. What he could do was find ways to protect himself in that moment.

"What are you doing, Nate?" Zeryn asked, placing a hand on Nathan's shoulder. He glanced down at his friend's bouncing leg. Zeryn had never seen him this agitated, not even when he faced expulsion from the sect.

Nathan opened his mouth to speak, then stopped.

"Why don't you use your specialty with everyone?"

"Cook?"

"Yeah."

Zeryn gestured toward the other disciples, whose longing gazes made it clear they'd overheard the tense conversation.

"I've prepared all the necessary equipment for you."

Nathan stepped out of the room to find a grill waiting, with tables and chairs arranged neatly around a crackling campfire. He had been too absorbed in his thoughts to notice the time outside. Night had fallen, the sky starless due to obscuring clouds—unclear whether from natural weather or high-tier cultivators. In the distance, Maelivar burned like a captive sun, its searchlights slicing through the darkness.

Seeing everyone waiting expectantly, Nathan immediately rolled up his sleeves and got to work. At his cue, Frank and the other disciples brought out pre-prepared ingredients, their movements efficient and respectful. Nathan suspected they'd had certain expectations when they learned their team would be led by Zeryn and the 'famous chef.'

After eighteen people had all cheerfully placed various meats and rare fruits, Elen hesitantly placed a plucked chicken on the table, its yellow skin clearly visible.

"What is this, Elen?" a disciple exclaimed. "A normal chicken?"

"Still holding a grudge against Senior Brother?" a disciple teased.

Hearing this, Elen blushed, hands quickly reaching out to retrieve his ingredient.

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"Leave it there," Nathan waved his hand, eyes still focused on examining the sharpness of the knife Zeryn had just given him for cutting meat. Then he turned to the others. "Everyone gets a portion, so settle down. Prepare the bowls and plates."

A quiet scramble began as the nineteen disciples, including a relieved Elen, hurried to obey.

Nathan was left alone, silent among the knowledge from [Cooking] level 3 for a few minutes. Once the menu was set in his mind, he moved. This wasn't the extravagance of the evening banquet; this was about efficient flavor. He had a feeling the night was about to get much busier.

After just half an hour, sizzling sounds arose from the area, aromas so tantalizing they made the Verdant Spire disciples' eyes widen, their mouths watering in anticipation. Smoke from the grill rose high, attracting gazes from soldiers and other organizations. They were drawn by the mouth-watering scents, lingering near the small feast in the camp area.

The Verdant Spire members stood up as if to block them, but Nathan's voice carried over.

"Bring ingredients, and I'll cook for you. Army priority first."

The soldiers blinked once, then erupted in a howl. A scramble began as they mobilized their comrades, bringing out ingredients they had hoarded for weeks. One soldier slapped a massive cut of precious Drake meat onto a spare table. "For everyone!" he boomed. "Been saving this for a cook worthy of the honor!"

It was as if the reins of war had been released for one night; soldiers who spent their days on the battlefield were now shouting and laughing. They gathered together, bringing out beer jugs from spatial rings, setting up tables around the camp, organizing games. Across the camp, Lachlan observed the scene for a moment before offering Nathan a nod and a rare, genuine smile of approval.

In contrast, the other forces remained cautious, with only a handful daring to approach and leave ingredients.

Nathan immersed himself in his continuous actions. He couldn't spare a second, his entire body a blur of controlled motion. Spices glittered in his hands under the camp's glowing globes. It was a mesmerizing performance; simple, ordinary movements strung together with an economy and grace that revealed the undeniable aura of a master.

Frank spent time observing for a while before approaching, offering to help his senior brother. Nathan initially wanted to refuse, but seeing that this junior was performing the procedures well and guessing the next steps needed, he accepted the assistance. Cooking for hundreds of people was indeed difficult, especially when they were cultivators rather than ordinary beings.

The easy dishes finished first. Frank immediately plated them and brought them to the front for the Verdant Spire Sect disciples and the army. Everyone cheered loudly when the fragrant aromas entered their ranks.

"For Chef Nathan!" A group of soldiers raised their beer mugs high.

"For Chef Nathan!" Other groups stood up and followed, even without food yet.

Nathan smiled, accepting a beer poured for him by Frank. He raised it in response to the soldiers' enthusiasm and drank it all in one satisfying gulp.

He returned to the stove. Both of them had become accustomed to the work, so Frank spoke up.

"Aren't you afraid, senior brother? About the war?"

Nathan's hands didn't stop, letting the question linger in his mind. After a moment, he said, "What do you think I'm doing?"

"This? Are you boosting morale for everyone?"

"I'm distracting myself from my own fear," Nathan chuckled, sprinkling salt on a finished steak before handing it to Frank.

"Is it working?" Frank took the dish, calling out for someone to receive it.

"A little," Nathan replied.

"I feel the same way," Frank said. "This busyness helps me avoid thinking about actually going out there."

Nathan heard the tremor of restlessness in the young man's voice. The kid following Nathan was still too young to enlist by Earth's military standards. But using those old standards wasn't appropriate when Frank was already Tier 2, possessing the strength of an entire Earth legion. Governments of various countries might even start wars just to have him. Even so, fear was the same everywhere. A child stepping into the most dangerous place without any hesitation would only be cold-blooded.

"At first I wanted to defeat someone to gain resources," Frank continued, eyes looking toward the Verdant Spire group and the army. "But the longer this goes on, the more I hope it ends before I have to fight. Aren't the people on the other side... human, just like them?" He gestured to the celebrating soldiers. "Senior brother, does that make me a coward?"

The sizzling of the Drake meat stir-fry drowned out the joyful shouts of the crowd, giving Nathan a reason to hold back the words that had rushed to his mouth. He almost let himself be influenced by Darkan and Vincent to teach Frank harsh lessons. But what did he really know? He still didn't truly understand the right and wrong of his own actions.

"As long as you survive, being cowardly doesn't matter," Nathan finally said, his voice growing quieter.

Frank was stunned for a moment, then a slow, relieved smile spread across his face.

Nathan watched the young man smile cheerfully among the ranks of people about to rush into death, his heart clenching. He had lied. He wasn't afraid of this war. And that was exactly what frightened him, not the scenes of smoke, fire, death, and destruction.

The scenes at Emberwood and Cascade Gardens were still present in his mind. He had tried to place himself in the tempest of war, but couldn't bring himself to feel what he should—worry, fear, or shock. All he felt was a bland detachment, as if this were an everyday occurrence. He wasn't too attached to the people here, not too deeply connected to Verdant Spire Sect, especially after being used as a tool by his own master. He was here because this was the safest place now, though it sounded contradictory, but that was the truth. The other reason was Zeryn. And further away, Celene, the unfortunate girl trapped in Maelivar whose whereabouts remained unknown.

He had thought about running away, but that was even more impossible given the current situation. The enemy would just wait for him alone and seize the opportunity immediately. The path he walked had only a few choices left. This battlefield wasn't like many others—a safe place where he could hide. His own psychology felt too twisted to offer Frank any real comfort. A simple lie was kinder than such a harsh truth.

"Prince Daniel Caelen requests you to serve as his personal chef," a voice spoke up, pulling Nathan from his thoughts.

He glanced at the guard—square face, arrogant set to his jaw—and promptly dismissed him, turning his full attention back to the food.

"Commoner." the guard raised his voice. "Do you dare ignore royal orders?"

"Even a prince should watch his mouth when talking to me." Nathan rested his palm flat on the outer rim of the searing-hot pan, not even flinching as steam coiled around his fingers. The guard swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the impossible sight.

"Same rules as before, army first, then other forces," Nathan said. "No exceptions. Don't want to? Then get lost. I'm not free to lick the ass of someone who only came here for reputation. If the prince truly contributes, for example, ending this war, I'm willing to cook for him free for a week. Can your master do that?"

The surrounding soldiers, hearing this, applauded thunderously. They once again shouted "Chef Nathan!" loudly, as if wanting to crush the guard. The man facing Nathan turned red-faced. Part of Nathan felt sorry for this subordinate, only bearing humiliation and infamy because of a worthless superior.

The guard turned and retreated in shame, any threats he might have made swallowed by the roar of the crowd.

Zeryn approached, receiving the portion Nathan had prepared specially for him.

"Won't you get your tongue cut by Sharp Aspect when you eat this?" Nathan asked, presenting a plate that looked like a sparkling diamond, unlike something to put in your mouth.

"What?" Zeryn's eyes widened. "Did you really find fruit that increases my Affinity?"

"It was very difficult!" Nathan crossed his arms.

Zeryn seemed unable to believe it, reaching out to touch the diamond on the plate. It was a jelly dish, but due to Sharp Aspect properties, it had taken this form. Zeryn immediately pulled his hand back.

"Holy shit, Nate! You're truly the best."

"Everyone needs you most anyway," Nathan said. "It also has the effect of increasing mana recovery speed for several days. According to my calculations."

Zeryn looked toward the soldiers enjoying their meal, seeming to realize Nathan wasn't simply cooking delicious food. "Are you doing all this because of what you heard about Arthur Merinor?"

Nathan nodded absently.

"That's not your fault," Zeryn reminded him. "Cause and effect are vague things. Taking the blame for every consequence connected to you will only lead to your own collapse."

"I know, Zer," Nathan said softly. "It just helps me think less this way."

"You're still like those early days." Zeryn chuckled. "Overthinking simple things. Remember when we were still in the outer sect and you found out you couldn't cultivate normally?"

In Nathan's mind, the small room with the double bed appeared. Zeryn lay on the upper bunk, hand supporting his head, drowsy and tired. Nathan stood before the blackboard, drawing a bunch of formulas about point accumulation.

"You made a complicated maze in one night," Zeryn said cheerfully with the memory. "Just to find an optimal path, utilizing every free moment to work and earn points. I've never met anyone who could analyze the benefits of cleaning toilets in the morning versus evening like you."

"What did I say?"

"Something about how the morning shift was better, even for the same 5 contribution points. Your logic was that fewer outer sect disciples were awake at night to make a mess."

"Exactly!" Nathan snapped his fingers. "That was a great discovery."

"That was the result of a madman," Zeryn concluded.

Both grinned broadly at the memory of those simpler, more peaceful times. Now, they were preparing for war.

"I'm going to do my duty," Zeryn said.

The sword genius went to sit surrounded not only by disciples from the same sect, but also soldiers and individuals from other places. They listened intently as he provided analysis and guidance for what needed to be done when battle came.

The dishes that needed cooking were gradually finished. With the help of enchanted cookware and specialized energy stones, his work was significantly faster. He knew he would need to cook on the road, so he had invested in buying proper kitchen equipment to store in his spatial ring. He had even used the Dimensional Facet obtained from The Shifting Trials to expand storage space.

He looked at the ordinary plucked chicken sitting on the table, picked it up, and cooked the final dish.

He carried two portions to where Elen sat, isolated from the other disciples.

"You still remember my favorite food, don't you?" Nathan said as he handed the chicken curry to the person who had once bullied him.

"We promised we'd eat it together, didn't we?" Elen offered a brief, pained smile, his gaze drifting toward their teammates sitting not far away.

Nathan sat beside him, dipped a spoon into the broth, and brought it to his lips. The flavor was perfect, but the dish was soulless. This was the dish he wished for most, but it was a flavor only his mother's hands could create. No matter how perfectly he replicated it, to him, it would always be just an ordinary meal.

Setting down his curry bowl, he observed the furtive glances thrown their way. Evaluations and plans unspoken.

"I haven't forgiven you, Elen," Nathan said calmly.

Nathan didn't have to look to know Elen had frozen beside him. He heard the soft clatter of a spoon against porcelain, followed by the splash of broth hitting the bowl.

"You're not the first person to bully me," Nathan continued. "So I'm not surprised and chose silent treatment to deal with you."

A transplanted child like him on Earth always invited a certain kind of trouble. The taunts about having no father, about being abandoned—they were wounds that still felt as fresh as yesterday.

He took a breath. "I'm sure you've wondered when I would come for you with my new position, right? Inner sect disciple, direct disciple, top 64 of The Shifting Trials, deputy leader of this team. I have enough authority and time to make things difficult for you. Yet I didn't. Do you think I forgave you?"

Elen put his spoon in the bowl, no longer eating. His hands trembled as he set down the food, remaining silent.

"Because you're not worth it, Elen," Nathan said.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the junior disciple clench his hands into fists.

"That was the best revenge I could devise," Nathan said. "To show you that you don't even register as dust in my eyes. Why would I need to get my hands dirty? After all, aren't you sitting here right now, isolated and alone, waiting for me to rescue you? I know you're hoping for this. Because it would help repair your image in the other disciples' eyes, so you wouldn't be isolated anymore. Because they would think I forgave you. Tell me, Elen. How does it feel to be looked down upon and isolated like this?"

Beside him, Elen finally released the breath he had been holding since the beginning. He weakly answered, "It's not pleasant at all."

"And that's when I haven't even laid a finger on you."

"I know this started because of me, and the consequences are mine. I just want... just want..."

"To apologize?" Nathan raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Senior Brother." Elen's voice broke. "I need to apologize to you!"

"Elen, let me ask you. If I weren't as I am now, still stuck at Tier 1, would you come to apologize to me?"

"I..." Elen stammered, clearly not expecting to be asked in reverse.

This reminded Nathan of Robby, the kid who had bullied him many years ago. One night during college years, Robby had come to find him on campus just to apologize after a long journey of hundreds of miles. In that moment, Nathan's resentment and humiliation had melted away, leaving only relief. He shook hands with Robby, not forgiving but still acknowledging his opponent's effort to change. He'd learned then that holding on to such bitterness only poisoned himself. He just wanted to focus on important people, his true friends.

"Our promise, I've fulfilled it," Nathan said, breaking the silence. "Consider it repaying the favor for the time you truly saw me as a friend. I hope after this, people won't discriminate against you because of me anymore. But most of all, I hope you survive this war. Only then will your regret have time to truly ripen."

"Thank you, Nathan," Elen exclaimed. "I..."

Nathan stood up to leave, never once looking at the junior disciple. He left Elen with a single parting sentence: "Finish your food. I put effort into it."

He heard the hurried clacking of spoon against bowl behind him. He smiled slightly, joining Zeryn. For the first time all night, a measure of true relief settled over him, and he allowed himself to simply enjoy the time with his friends.

Because tomorrow would bring the dawn of destruction.

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