What Is A World Without Sacrifices?

One soldier was torn into two, another had their head twisted backward, and the last appeared crushed as though struck by a massive boulder, their body bleeding profusely. The group's once-formidable formation was now shattered, leaving them vulnerable. Before they could regroup into a defensive stance, the flashing figure returned, relentlessly claiming lives in a gruesome display. Despite their desperate attempts to muster every ounce of energy for speed and defense, their efforts proved futile. The figure carved a bloody path through the soldiers, leaving only mangled remnants in its wake.

The spectators could see people screaming, but the illusion was eerily silent. The attacks came unpredictably, giving no indication of where the figure would strike next. Some of the soldiers were unfortunate enough to see the menace hurtling toward them, terror etched across their pale faces before death claimed them. Others, spared the sight, perished suddenly, their lifeless bodies collapsing as though in a grim semblance of peace. Yet, could such deaths ever be called peaceful? Who could say what torment they endured in their final moments?

The scene grew increasingly surreal as the environment began to dissolve. Bits of the battlefield turned into floating white dust, drifting upward and vanishing. Though the disintegration spread, the violence persisted, with heads flying, blood spraying, and bodies convulsing before going still. Beasts howled, and soldiers' silent screams remained frozen in time. As the scene faded entirely, leaving only a few lingering figures to fall, the surroundings returned to their original state, unmarred and tranquil once more.

Henndar's sharp gaze focused on Lexon, whose expression was grave. "I attempted to probe for energy traces," Lexon began, "but there was none to reveal the attacker's attributes. The enemy came prepared, knowing exactly how to counter that group."

Henndar remained composed as he replied, "The enemy is indeed well-informed. The first target was the group's leader, correct?"

Lexon nodded, prompting Henndar to continue. "We need to lay a trap. Am I correct in assuming that's your suggestion?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Lexon affirmed. "The attacker must be drawn into a situation they cannot anticipate or escape."

"Very well," Henndar agreed. He already seemed to have a strategy forming. "Double the number of forces. Deploy superior alchemists to create illusory formations, making the group appear smaller but more formidable. The attacker may suspect the deception, so ensure the illusion exudes an air of danger. Add burrowing units with enhanced sensory range and aerial units capable of maintaining surveillance from heights undetectable to the enemy. Ground fighters should excel in close combat. Equip the alchemists with relaying eyes so we can observe the confrontation in real-time."

Henndar's plan was methodical, leaving no apparent vulnerabilities. Yet Lexon hesitated. "Your Majesty, while your plan is sound, the relaying eyes pose an issue. Their Youm reserves won't suffice for such a long-range operation."

In this world, Youm—the cultivated energy—was vital for alchemical tasks. Relaying eyes required immense energy to maintain over vast distances, straining even the most skilled alchemists.

Henndar smiled faintly. "Is that all? I thought my commander would have already considered the solution I have in mind."

Lexon's brow furrowed. Though an idea lingered in his mind, he sought confirmation. "I wouldn't presume to match Your Majesty's insight."

Henndar chuckled softly before elaborating. "The answer is simple. Send additional alchemists to supply their Youm to those using relaying eyes. This creates an uninterrupted energy flow."

The explanation seemed reasonable at first, but Lexon quickly identified a flaw. "Your Majesty, wouldn't that essentially sacrifice those alchemists?"

The room fell silent as the weight of Lexon's words sank in. Alchemists tasked with providing their Youm would be drained of energy, leaving them defenseless in a battle. They would become expendable.

Henndar's smile remained as he addressed the concern. "Sacrifices are a necessity in both war and life. Each of you has made such sacrifices before. This will be no different."

The others struggled to maintain their composure, yet unease crept into their thoughts. They recognized the truth in Henndar's words but could not ignore the moral dilemma it posed. Sacrificing skilled alchemists, many of whom had families, weighed heavily on their consciences. Yet, as trusted advisors, they could not voice their dissent openly. To oppose the king's decision meant questioning his authority—a dangerous proposition.

With that, Henndar rose gracefully, signaling the end of the discussion. As he reached the door, he paused and added, "Oh, and include a detonator as a last resort. Use it only if all else fails." His tone was as unyielding as the plan itself.

They exchanged uneasy glances. While their faces remained composed, their thoughts betrayed their inner turmoil. The illusion had shown them a battle too real, too harrowing. Each knew that the king's strategy, no matter how ingenious, would demand heavy sacrifices. They understood the necessity of obedience, but how could they reconcile it with the sight of soldiers and alchemists reduced to fodder for an elusive enemy? A grim sense of duty clashed with their consciences, casting a shadow over the room.

He left without waiting for a response. Lexon stared at the empty doorway, understanding the harsh reality of the orders. The soldiers and alchemists sent on this mission were unlikely to return. Yet Henndar's strategy, brutal as it was, aimed to glean critical information about their enigmatic foe. The cost of ignorance was far greater. Lexon's heart grew heavy.

"Forgive me," he whispered, resigned to the grim task ahead.

Meanwhile, in a more tranquil setting...

"But Mom, I'm hungry!" Lia complained, slumping in her chair

Kethra, ever the epitome of maternal patience and grace, smiled. "You need to wait for your father, dear. He'll be here shortly."

"But why?" Lia persisted, her tone far from regal.

"It's tradition," Kethra explained gently. "This will teach you patience and tolerance."

"I'm going to starve!" Lia wailed, resting her head dramatically on the table as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Aramith, seated beside her, chuckled quietly. Unlike Lia, he wasn't particularly enthusiastic about food. As her antics escalated, a low growl emanated from the direction of their eldest sibling. Aramith's lips twitched, fighting back laughter, but his eyes betrayed his amusement.

Lia perked up, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "The great dragon speaks again!" she announced with mock solemnity, bursting into giggles.

Aramith couldn't hold back any longer. "Pfft!" he snorted, joining her in laughter.

Mozrael, the source of the growl, shifted awkwardly, her cheeks tinged with a shy blush. She glanced at Kethra, who offered her an encouraging smile. Mozrael's shyness was a stark contrast to Lia's exuberance, and though she loved her siblings deeply, she often felt overshadowed by their lively personalities. Her thoughts wandered briefly to her own insecurities, wondering if she would ever feel as at ease in their company as they seemed with one another.

Kethra, noticing Mozrael's discomfort, let out a soft chuckle and shook her head. The lively exchange was a brief, welcome reprieve from the storm brewing beyond their serene dining room. Even in these moments, the weight of Henndar's plans lingered in the back of her mind. She prayed silently for the safety of those who would soon find themselves on the front lines.