The Faithless Men.

Soldiers loyal to Aric Valerian alone. They are rarely mages or martial artists, more often than not, they were worthless men.

Thieves and bandits, beggars and drunks. Young men who were told the world could offer them nothing more but death—young men who had since lost faith in all but the gods above.

And even they abandoned them.

So they left their altars, abandoned their gods, and sold their hands to steel instead of scripture.

Aric found them. He gave them coin, purpose, and a name. "Faithless Men," he said, not as an insult but as a banner. They had no god to betray, no creed to bind them, only loyalty bought in blood and kept in fear.

Now their silence is no longer prayer but menace. Their eyes carry the hollow look of men who once prayed and were never answered.

And they fight like those who expect no heaven to welcome them.

———

Maps and sealed letters crowded the oak desk, their ink-darkened surfaces lit in bronze.

Aric sat in his high-backed chair, eyes half-hooded, one hand idly tracing the edge of a dagger's sheath. The stillness in the room was that of a snake—waiting.

A creak at the door broke the quiet.

Lerai Castro entered, his arms weighed down by a stack of leather-bound folders and vellum sketches rolled into tubes. Strolling behind him, far less burdened but with a watchful intensity, came Alan, his broad shoulders squared as though he carried the weight of war itself.

Aric looked up, his gaze sharpened by firelight.

"It's time?" His voice cut the silence like a sword drawn from a sheath.

Lerai set the folders down, a glint of triumph hidden beneath his disheveled mop of hair.

"Yes, Highness," he said, his tone laced with an excitement he tried—and failed—to disguise. "All upgrades are complete. Additions, refinements, and a few… new inventions aswell as 'that" request."

Alan crossed his arms and leaned against the mantle, eyes narrowing in approval. "I've tested them with the men. Every division has its tools, tailored for their role. They're ready."

Aric leaned back in his chair, the faintest of smiles flickering.

"Then let's see them"

Lerai opened the first folder. Inside, careful sketches depicted gauntlets, vests, and strange glowing bands.

He spread them on the desk like a gambler laying down a winning hand.

"Frontline infantry—the Soldiers' Division," he began, tapping the page showing a heavy gauntlet marked with runic engravings. "The Strength Gloves, Mark II. We've stabilized the amplification runes, reinforced them with a Stabilize sequence. Before, the men risked torn ligaments if they pushed too far. Now, they can shatter a shield wall with bare hands and not even strain."

Alan nodded, his voice steady, grounding Lerai's enthusiasm.

"I had Sergeant Karros test them. He lifted a ballista cart single-handedly. The gauntlets turned our weakest recruit into something that could crush an armored knight."

Aric's eyes glinted. "And the cost?"

"Minimal mana drain from the crystals," Lerai replied quickly. "Sustainable in prolonged battle."

He shifted to the next drawing—an armored vest marked with layered rune circles.

"Defensive Vests, Mark II. Absorption runes remain, but I've embedded Reflect sequences. Not only will they block a sword strike or a fireball—they'll rebound a fraction of that force. An enemy's fury becomes their own punishment."

Alan chuckled, a sound more dangerous than amused. "One of the recruits got cocky, swung at another's vest during testing. Broke his own wrist."

Aric's lips curved faintly.

"Good. Defense as an attack is brilliant."

Lerai moved on, pulling free a sketch of a gauntlet ending in a crystal chamber.

"For control of the field—the Mana Pulse Gauntlet. Compressed mana released through Pulse and Repel runes. A shockwave strong enough to scatter formations, unbalance cavalry, or clear a breach."

Alan added, "We'll arm a few in each company. They'll open gaps for the rest of the line."

Finally, Lerai gestured to a delicate band marked with intricate circles. "The Guardian Halo. Headbands that sense lethal mana surges or fatal blows. They raise a dome shield instantly, buying seconds in critical moments. Enough to keep squads alive under ambush or artillery."

Aric's gaze lingered on the sketches, seeing not ink and parchment but a battlefield reshaped to a new type of command.

"Frontline breakers," he murmured. "Shields against despair. They'll bleed the enemy, and they'll not die quickly."

Lerai flipped to another folder, this one heavier with diagrams of restraints and pendants.

"The Guards' Division," he said, voice steadier now. "Their role is containment, protection, and control."

Alan spoke first. "They will keep order in conquered cities. Restrain nobles too valuable to kill. Guard your council, your supply lines, your throne."

Lerai tapped a pair of cuffs engraved with cruel runes. "Their first MPG is the Blood-Binder Shackles. They restrain physically, yes—but more. Bind and Siphon runes drain a captive's mana slowly into the crystal. Enemy mages will find themselves weaker with every breath."

Aric's eyes narrowed approvingly. "Useful."

Lerai turned the page to a pendant etched with spirals. "The Echo Charm. A commander's tool. Transmit and Mimic runes duplicate the user's voice, sending it across linked gear. Orders can be relayed instantly, or your own voice projected into the ears of soldiers miles away."

Alan's smirk carried a note of dark humor.

"Imagine the enemy, hearing your command in their own ranks. Confusion spreads and they lose control."

Lerai leaned forward, fingers brushing the edge of the drawing.

"Precisely"

Aric nodded in agreement.

Lerai unfurled another set of sketches, the parchment inked with cloaks, boots, and subtle trinkets.

"The Stealth Division—scouts, infiltrators, saboteurs. Tools crafted for silence and deception."

Alan's tone hardened. "They'll be the eyes and knives in the dark. The ones who go where soldiers cannot."

Lerai lifted the design of a hooded cloak threaded with runes. "The Shroud Cloak. Woven with Veil and Mute sequences. Light bends, sound muffles. Near-invisibility, though prolonged use leaves distortions if you look too close."

"Enough," Alan said, "to slip past walls or vanish in a crowded hall. They tested it in the market. A guard brushed shoulders with one of ours and never noticed."

Next, Lerai rolled out the sketch of rune-carved boots. "The Blink Boots. Shift and Anchor runes allow short-range displacement—one to three meters. Quick bursts to dodge or bypass barriers."

Aric arched a brow. "And precision?"

Alan's eyes glinted. "Sharp. One of my men blinked through a barred window frame without brushing iron. Another reappeared behind his sparring partner with a blade already drawn."

Finally, Lerai gestured to the modified Echo Charm. "A variation of the pendant. This one projects false voices. Infiltrators can stage arguments in enemy camps, or make commanders shout phantom orders in the chaos of battle."

Alan smile was cold. "Whispers in the dark. Shadows that speak. That kind of chaos."

---

The final folder was opened with a deliberate weight, as though Lerai himself recognized its danger. Within lay sketches of thinner armor, cloaks paired with boots, and a simple ring whose runes seemed more ominous than all the others combined.

"The Assassination Division," Lerai said softly. "Their purpose is singular: kill without leaving a trace."

Alan unfolded his arms. His voice was grave, almost reverent. "I oversaw their trials along with Meholt and Borag."

Lerai pointed first to the paired items. "The Shroud Cloak and Blink Boots, used together. Near-invisible approach, instantaneous repositioning. An enemy will never know where the strike comes from."

He shifted to the sketch of a modified gauntlet. "The Mana Pulse Gauntlet, precision variant. Instead of wide shockwaves, it focuses a single pulse into a piercing strike. Armor crumples, organs rupture—silent, efficient."

Alan's gaze lingered on the last item: a ring marked with Command and Detonate runes.

"The Detonator Ring. Not for soldiers—for you. Or one you trust absolutely. It links to every assassin's gear. Betrayal means death, triggered in an instant. They will serve knowing treachery is suicide."

Aric's hand hovered over the drawing, his expression a canvas of untouched white.

Then he nodded once.

"Its quite the pragmatic method, but loyalty bound by choice alone is a wonderful, yet fragile thing."

Alan continued. "But loyalty bound by fear is unbreakable."

"And fear does not forget." Lerai finished.

---

The fire snapped loudly as silence fell.

Lerai's papers lay across the desk like a war map of another kind—not of terrain and rivers, but shadows and promised blood.

Aric leaned back, folding his hands. His gaze swept from Lerai to Alan, weighing their words, these were more than inventions.

"Soldiers who break walls. Guards who chain the will of men. Scouts who become whispers. Assassins who are shadows themselves." His tone was low, measured, heavy with intent. "All leading to a start of something no one is prepared for."

Alan inclined his head. "The men are ready. They believe the gear makes them more than human. And it does."

Lerai, flushed with pride, added, "Each division sharpened for its purpose. We forsee with growth in manpower, a terrifying army can be raised."

Aric rose slowly, the firelight haloing him in gold and shadow. He set one hand on the folders, pressing them flat against the table as if sealing their fate.

"Good, and what of the other matter we discussed?" Aric glanced at Lerai.

"It is ready." Lerai nodded.

His gaze hardened.

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