Chapter 285 - 280 — Another Plane
"Before anything else, I would like us to give thanks to the Iron Father for seeing us through another day. Please, join me in a moment of silence."
Malach placed a fist against his chest and lowered his head in silent prayer. Every cadet followed, including the head cadets standing behind him.
A moment later, Malach raised his head.
"My fellow cadets... I’m afraid the news I bring you today is not good."
The benevolent smile was gone. His eyes had softened, his entire expression carrying such genuine sorrow that if Gordon and the other head cadets didn’t know the kind of person Malach truly was, even they might have been fooled.
"Yesterday, as you all know, the other head cadets and I carried out a dangerous operation against the Southern House. Jogo and several of our brave comrades volunteered to infiltrate their fortress through an opening I had previously prepared. Their objective was simple: destroy the Bastion Core, cripple the South, and bring every single one of us one step closer to victory. They knew the risks when they went in. They went anyway. However..."
Malach paused, releasing a heavy sigh as his gaze briefly lowered.
"They were captured before they could reach their target. And this..." His expression seemed to tighten. "This is how the South repaid their courage."
He traced several runic words through the air. They blazed to life before spreading outward, forming a massive screen upon which a single image appeared.
The moment the cadets saw it, horrified gasps rippled through the courtyard.
"Look at them." Malach gestured towards the image, his voice quieter now. "Look at what the South reduced our comrades to."
On the screen were the charred, unconscious figures of Jogo and the others who had infiltrated the Southern House.
"They burned them. Tortured them. And for what? Because they refused to betray their brethren? Because they refused to turn their backs on us?"
Malach’s expression tightened, disgust bleeding into his voice.
"There is losing a battle, and then there is this. This is cruelty. Nothing more."
The cadets’ expressions slowly shifted from shock to pure, unfiltered anger. Malach noticed the change instantly, and he didn’t hesitate to fan the flames.
"The South has shown us exactly what kind of people they are. Honor means nothing to them. Humanity means nothing to them. If cruelty gives them victory, then cruelty is what they’ll choose."
Malach paused, his gaze slowly sweeping across the courtyard.
"But they’ve made one terrible mistake. One mistake they will come to regret."
His voice gradually grew louder.
"They underestimated the North!" Malach slammed a fist against his chest.
"We are the Iron Father’s blessed children! We are Ferran! We do not run! We do not hide! And we do not abandon our own! If they believe they can burn our brothers and frighten the rest of us into submission, then let them believe it! Because when we come for them, we will return every ounce of their cruelty tenfold! No..."
Malach’s eyes hardened.
"A hundredfold."
By then, the anger throughout the courtyard had become almost palpable. Malach allowed the silence to linger for a moment before lowering his voice until it carried through the courtyard like the growl of a dragon.
"The South wanted to make an example of our brothers. Then we will make an example of the South."
He slammed a fist against his chest.
"For the North!"
By then, every cadet’s eyes were burning with hatred, each of them demanding retribution. None wasted a second in answering.
"FOR THE NORTH!"
"FOR THE NORTH!"
The chant continued again and again, growing louder until it seemed to shake the entire fortress. Eventually, having achieved exactly what he wanted, Malach gave the cadets a final nod before stepping down from the podium and walking away.
As he did, the sorrow vanished from his face. Slowly, a cold smile took its place.
Gordon and the other cadet heads caught sight of it. Several of them visibly stiffened, while another swallowed dryly. Only after Malach had moved far enough away did their hushed whispers begin.
"Hey... where the hell did the Prime even get that image?"
"You’re asking me? I stopped trying to understand him three schemes ago. He operates on some completely different plane. Just accept it. You’ll sleep better."
"...You know what? Fair."
Gordon, the second strongest among them, heard everything, and a strange sense of unease immediately settled over him.
’So this was his plan.’
Their conversation last night had ended on a confusing note, but it was only now that Gordon finally understood what Malach had meant.
Layers...
His gaze shifted back towards the image. Malach had deliberately left it behind, allowing the sight of their charred comrades to continuously feed the cadets’ hatred.
Somehow, in a twisted sense, Gordon couldn’t help but feel that rather than the South, Malach himself was responsible for Jogo and the others ending up like this.
Even worse was the reason why.
He hadn’t sent them there simply to injure Zephyrion or catch the South off guard. Those had only been part of it. Malach had also done it for this.
Gordon turned towards the gathered cadets, their eyes practically burning with rage. Their morale was higher than he had ever seen it, and whatever hesitation or fear they might have previously held towards the coming battles had disappeared entirely.
Now, they were out for blood. Southern blood.
Whatever battles came next would undoubtedly be a bloodbath.
That said, this level of foresight was simply on another level. With a single move, Malach had accomplished several things at once, each outcome seemingly feeding into another.
Layers.
Gordon shuddered.
’He’s crazy.’
He had never met anyone quite like Malach before. For a brief moment, he almost felt pity for that Lightning Prince. It was simply his unfortunate fate to have become Malach’s enemy, and just like everyone else who had stood against him, he would eventually learn the hard way;
Malach Sanct Sarakhel simply existed on an entirely different plane from everyone else.