As I suspected, Luthier thought.
The massive host that had marched from Leyndell to crush the Giants, only to turn south against Stormveil and eventually sweep through Caelid, was the predecessor of the Tarnished. Only such an invincible army, forged in the fires of world-unification, could produce the legendary heroes who would one day streak across the sky like falling stars.
Morel's account, combined with the histories Luthier had devoured and his own meta-knowledge, allowed him to glimpse a truth buried under layers of Golden Order propaganda. The banishment at Caelid had been sudden, yet both the Eternal Queen and the First Elden Lord had remained remarkably composed.
In the aftermath, Marika remained the supreme, virtuous goddess of the Lands Between, while the exiled Godfrey and his warriors were still inscribed in the annals of history as the greatest heroes of the Unification War.
It did not look like a betrayal of "killing the hounds once the rabbits are caught." It looked as though a God had given her King a new mission; and the King, in turn, chose to shoulder the burden in silence, casting aside his throne and his axe to lead his warriors into the unknown.
Luthier exhaled slowly, pulling his wandering mind back to the present. His investigation into the Ofnir family had not been aimless. He could now confirm that Sir Gideon the All-Knowing was not currently in the Lands Between. Meanwhile, the branch of the family represented by Hektov were fanatical New Party members who would never grant a dragon prince any quarter during his time in Leyndell. What he had to do next was self-evident.
"Agheel. Greyoll." He addressed his two captains. "You will depart tonight. Greyoll, keep a close watch on Clavell. Agheel, move to the demi-human camp and observe the alliance."
"Tomorrow morning, the main delegation will depart for Dectus as scheduled. I will take Elder Morel and a small guard on a 'hunting excursion' near Sunset Pass. Once we are in position, you have two tasks. First, ensure Hektov and his guards die at the hands of those tribes. Second, once the betrayal is complete, execute the entire rebel alliance. Bring Clavell to me afterward."
"Execute the entire alliance?" Greyoll's face went pale. "Is that truly necessary? If we kill Soreto, Turak, and the primary chieftains, the rest will scatter."
"We have no other choice," Luthier said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I do not deny that they are a desperate people. But in this moment, they are witnesses to Clavell's treason. They are beasts driven by the frenzy of slaughter. Any survivor could eventually expose Clavell to the Golden Order. Worse, if we simply break them, they will scatter into the countryside as bandits, butchering defenseless farmers in every village they find. That is a reality I am even less willing to accept."
Every soul in the royal tent understood the grim truth. From the moment the dying priest had gathered this desperate host, their fates were sealed.
Krug had overestimated his control and underestimated the madness of his people when faced with the walls of Karen. He sought a future for the tribes of Gelmir, but his subjects understood only one thing: to smash, to loot, and to gorge themselves on the city's bones.
After tonight, without Krug, the alliance would become a pack of rabid wolves. All of Clavell's negotiations had lost their foundation. Even if Luthier were to drive them back into the wilderness at the cost of his own men, it would change nothing.
"I understand..." Greyoll whispered after a long silence. She saluted and turned to carry out her orders.
Agheel remained calm, offering a silent bow before following her out of the pavilion.
Once they were gone, Luthier finalized the logistics with the remaining elders and knights. With a Godskin assassin still fresh in their memories, the group insisted on the highest security for his "hunting trip."
An hour later, the pavilion was empty. Luthier sat in the dark for a moment before extinguishing the lamp and lying down. With a flicker of will, he entered the Memory Battlefield.
This time, he did not rush into combat with Samuel. Instead, he manifested a high-backed chair and sat beneath the cold, silent stars of his own mind.
Within this space, his mental processing was heightened to an incredible degree. He reviewed his decision over and over. Though it was the result of hours of deliberation, he continued to interrogate himself, searching for a better path.
There is none. That was the only answer that returned.
Saving Clavell was only one part of the puzzle. He needed the demi-humans to purge the New Party influence from Karen. Then, as a passing demigod, he would quell the "chaos," appearing as a savior. He would petition Queen Marika to install Clavell as the new Governor.
As a former Court Perfumer, Clavell's loyalty leaned toward the Old Party. Given his local roots and Luthier's backing, Marika would have no reason to refuse.
With this move, the Old Party would reclaim a strategic chokepoint, and Luthier would control Clavell from the shadows—planting the first seed of Farum Azula's influence in the heart of the Golden Order. The twenty thousand civilians of Karen would be spared from a massacre.
The plan was perfect. Every gear turned in harmony. And yet, to ensure the survival of his interests, he had casually signed the death warrants of everyone in Sunset Pass.
Luthier gazed at the cold stars, thinking of the future. He thought of the Radahn Festival, of the sands red with blood and the countless bones buried beneath the dunes of Caelid. Those warriors had been alive once, only to be ground into dust by the wheels of history.
In the past, present, and future of the Lands Between, the pace of an age was always set by a handful of Gods and Kings. On the path of a Sovereign, the deaths of commoners were often treated as little more than footnotes—brief, unread sentences that decorated a legacy.
Perhaps, in some other corner of time, there was someone like him who felt the same suffocating pressure. But in the end, they would all be left with the same lack of choice.
He was the Crown Prince of the Ancient Dragons. He was responsible only for his kind.
In this moment, he had not yet donned the physical crown of Farum Azula, but he already felt the weight of the blood that stained it.